Alpine Interlude
by The Irish Chauffeur
Summary: Following their visit to Italy in 1932, now in the summer of 1933, the Bransons, the Crawleys and all of their children pay an extended visit to Friedrich and Edith von Schonborn's magnificent home - Rosenberg - in Lower Austria. But while it is a time for the three families to rest, relax, and play, already the storm clouds are gathering over central Europe.
1. Chapter 1

**Alpine Interlude**

Chapter One

Of Mountains, Rooms, And _Apfelstrudel_

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

In attempting to describe Rosenberg, Friedrich and Edith's beautiful home in Lower Austria, possessed as it was of magnificent views northwards to the distant, soaring peaks of the snow-capped Alps, southwards to the spreading mossy green mantle of the _Wienerwald_ \- the Vienna Woods - and thence to the sparkling broad waters of the River Danube, one quickly ran out of superlatives. Something with which the Bransons and the Crawleys, who had come to stay here for the latter part of the summer of 1933 would have agreed.

For many, an Austrian _schloss_ conjured up the image of a ruined medieval castle perched at an improbable height upon some desolate, snowbound, rocky crag. And although this was true enough of some, there were many which were mansions set at the heart of an aristocratic estate like Downton Abbey. And which existed too in what was now called the Irish Free State. Or rather they had until the early '20s when the majority of these, like Skerries House, the former home of the Bransons down in County Cork, had been burned to ground by the IRA either in the Irish War of Independence or else the Irish Civil War that had followed it. All would have been described as country houses and Rosenberg was one of these.

Built round a central courtyard, with massive, ochre coloured walls punctuated by regimented rows of double windows, nestling beneath a group of steeply sloping red tiled mansard roofs, peppered with chimney stacks, and with house martins nesting beneath the pediment above the main entrance. Within there was a succession of impressive state rooms, among them, the entrance hall with its double, curving, sweeping, marble staircase, quartet of gilded lanterns, decorative panels and medallions of sculpted plaster work. All of the succeeding suite of ground floor rooms in some way or other were plastered, panelled, gilded, and painted, with floors of polished wood, save of course for the flag stones paving both the hall and the ornate chapel, redolent of beeswax and the scent of pine logs, all kept warm in winter by large tiled stoves, the rooms sumptuously furnished, and which in their magnificence surpassed even Chatsworth House in Derbyshire and Castle Howard in Yorkshire, both of which were well known to Mary.

However, as Edith herself had been at pains to point out to her newly arrived guests, given the fact that Friedrich and she did very little by way of entertaining, indeed were often out in the Near East on yet another of their archaeological expeditions, while some of the state rooms here at Rosenberg, had been opened up especially, most of them were closed and shuttered, their furnishings swathed in dust sheets.

Not so, and much to the delight of Tom, the library which with its thousands of volumes, including a complete set of the _Encyclopedia Britannica_ , rivalled that at Downton. With a laugh, Friedrich, in whom last year with their shared political views Tom had found a kindred spirit, knowing his Irish brother-in-law's abiding love for both books and the written word, duly proceeded to place the entire contents at Tom's disposal for the duration of his visit to Rosenberg.

* * *

Out on the sun drenched, stone flagged terrace, midst the mingled scents of lilac, rose, box, and lavender, Tom sighed contentedly, patted his stomach, lounged back in his wicker chair, and promptly closed his eyes.

"Ah, to be sure," he said, now deliberately lapsing into a thick Irish brogue, something which was guaranteed to make all of those, even the aristocratic Mary, seated out here on the terrace, laugh, "Edith, me darlin', that meal was absolutely delicious".

"I'm very glad that you enjoyed it. Frau Eder will be pleased". Edith dimpled with pleasure. Ever since June 1919, when she had first become properly acquainted with her younger sister's Irish fiancé, Edith had always had an exceedingly soft spot for her brother-in-law, Tom Branson.

"And the dessert, what did yous say it was called again?"

" _Apfelstrudel_ ," replied Edith. "It's darling Max's favourite. If you'd like another piece, I'm sure there's some left down in the kitchen. Would you like me to ask Frau Eder …"

"I'm sure Tom would, but if it's all the same to you, Edith, I'd much rather that you didn't!" laughed Sybil. Decidedly amused, she prodded her handsome husband gently in the stomach whereupon the Irishman opened one enquiring eye and then just as quickly closed it again. Eyes still shut, Tom grinned.

"Is that a polite, English way of saying that yous t'ink I'm fat?" he asked, now doing his best to contrive to sound aggrieved.

"No, not at all. I'm simply concerned to see that you don't become so. Especially after you more than did justice to the chocolate dessert served last night at dinner!" laughed Sybil.

"What? With yous and all the children to keep me on my toes? No chance of that, for sure!" Tom chuckled. Life was exceedingly good. Married to the woman he adored and with four healthy, boisterous children: Danny now thirteen, twelve year old Saiorse, seven year old Bobby the family joker whom everyone said was the splitting image of Tom, and lastly young Dermot born earlier this same year.

"So was it even better than the Italian dessert you enjoyed so much when we were all together in Florence? The … What was it again, Mary?" Sybil looked across at her elder sister, seeking some form of enlightenment, but none was forthcoming. Instead, Mary frowned then vigorously shook her head.

"Darling, I leave that sort of thing to our cook".

" _Tiramisu_ ," Friedrich smiled and winked at Sybil. "And, so it is said, made first for the Grand Duke Cosimo III in Siena towards the end of the seventeenth century".

Friedrich von Schönborn, Edith's erstwhile lover and, since last year when they had married in the English Church on the Via Maggio in Florence, now her husband, and the father of their two children, darling Max aged ten and dear little Kurt born earlier this same year seemingly thankfully free of the haemophilia from which Max suffered and for which there was no cure, was someone who was possessed of a seemingly infinite store of all manner of unexpected knowledge. Not only academic and historical as was only be expected of someone who was an archaeologist as well as a member of the renowned Archaeological Institute in Vienna, but also the arcane and the obscure, and who, without any trace of conceit upon his part, could always be relied upon to provide a helpful answer to the most esoteric of questions.

Mary turned her head away so that the others should not see her frown.

The existence of Edith's lover, let alone the fact that she had given birth to a child back in 1922, had come as something of a revelation to both the Crawleys and the Bransons. As it turned out, Friedrich and Mary were themselves already acquainted and which, when they met again after an interval of some twenty years had proven a shock for each of them.

Mary had not recognised Friedrich at first, at least not from the handful of grainy, sepia coloured photographs which Edith had shown them in the _salle d'attente_ in distant Calais, while they had all been waiting to board the Rome Express, This earlier familiarity between Friedrich and Mary stemmed from a chance encounter at a splendid ball held at the Austro-Hungarian Embassy in London, where Friedrich had then been serving in the capacity of a Military Attachė on the eve of the Great War, or as Matthew had put it, when he had learned of their meeting, _before the Flood_.

Fortunately, what could well have proved an extremely difficult situation had been overcome, although Mary still remained wary of Friedrich. The more so since it had transpired that he knew the elder brother of the decidedly deceased Pamuk and therefore presumably what it was that had transpired between the now long dead young Turkish diplomat and the then Lady Mary Crawley. Of equal concern to Mary was just what, in the intervening years, Friedrich might have said about her to Edith. After all, as no doubt both of the Crawley sisters readily would have conceded, neither was especially fond of the other. Of course these days, they met up but infrequently and when they did thankfully Sybil was on hand to keep the peace between her feuding sisters.

Which was why, earlier this same year, after Edith had given birth to young Kurt, and then Sybil to Dermot, when the invitation had been extended both to the Bransons and the Crawleys to come and stay here at Rosenberg for part of the summer, Mary had been somewhat reticent about agreeing to accept it. This and the fact that, from the photographs she had seen of Rosenberg, it was self-evident that the splendours of Friedrich and Edith's home quite eclipsed those of Downton Abbey, the ancestral seat of the Crawleys.

Then there had been the small matter of that diamond tiara, matching necklace, and ear rings, which Friedrich had given to Edith to mark the birth of their son, darling little Max, of whom, it must be said, Mary was inordinately fond. When Robert had been born, true to form Matthew had marked the birth of his son rather less expensively by placing a simple stone carved with the date and the boy's initials on the gable of the newly restored barn at Home Farm! What was more, Edith's magnificent set of jewels clearly outshone those which Mary herself had inherited by right when she had become the countless of Grantham following the death of her father in 1931.

And, of course, the political situation in Austria remained precarious making a visit here at this time perhaps unwise. Back in March, in an attempt to stabilise matters the diminutive Chancellor, Engelbert Dollfuss, had closed down the country's parliament, turned Austria into a one party state, and was now running the country by emergency decree. A disgraceful state of affairs and something which, following the arrival of the Bransons and the Crawleys, had drawn several pithy comments in private from Friedrich. Meanwhile in neighbouring Germany some seven months earlier, in January, Herr Hitler, whom both Matthew and Tom referred to contemptuously as a jumped up little corporal, had become Chancellor there.

* * *

Nonetheless, Mary's affection for young Max was genuine enough.

It stemmed from something which had happened last year when, at the villa in the Fiesole Hills, Mary's quick thinking had undoubtedly saved the life of her young nephew. Max had tripped and fallen headlong down a flight of marble steps and had it not been for Mary who without a thought for her own safety had placed herself directly in the path of the falling boy, darling Max, a haemophiliac, would have been killed.

And it was because of Mary's undoubted love for Max that when Matthew quietly pointed out to his wife that if they did not accept Friedrich and Edith's kind invitation to stay at Rosenberg no-one would be more upset than young Max who having learned that his English and Irish cousins were not coming to stay after all would be quite inconsolable, that Mary relented. Thereafter, the necessary arrangements were duly put in hand by the capable, albeit condescending Barrow. Of course, if Mary had had her way, Barrow would have been dismissed long ere since but there was no denying that as successor to the aged Carson, Thomas Barrow was punctillious in his performance of his duties as the butler of Downton Abbey: Matthew putting down his wife's intense dislike of the dark haired, saturnine Barrow as nothing more than the fact that he was not Carson. Of course, had the earl of Grantham been aware of the nature of, and the reason for, Barrow's annual trip to the flesh pots of Berlin, then Matthew might well have thought differently.

* * *

The Bransons had crossed the Irish Sea from Dublin to Liverpool on board the British and Irish Steam Packet Company ship the _Innisfallen_ , then travelled by train first to Downton and thereafter in the company of the Crawleys up to London where all they spent the night at the Hotel Russell close to the British Museum. Then on to Dover on board the Golden Arrow and across the English Channel by steamer to Calais. Thence by way of Paris and Strasbourg crossing over the border into Germany, passing through Munich, and so into Austria on board the eastbound Orient Express bound for far distant Istanbul; the Bransons and the Crawleys leaving the express at the Westbahnhof in Vienna where, having changed to a local train, they and their luggage were met at the wayside station at St. Johann by a pair of motors sent for the purpose by Friedrich and Edith and so conveyed to Rosenberg.

* * *

A moment later Matthew now appeared on the terrace from the lawn below. He was closely followed by a bevy of excited children led by Danny Branson, his cousins Robert Crawley aged twelve, and ten year old Max Schönborn whom Danny and Robert had both met for the very first time only last summer, and who since then when, as now, they were all together, were utterly inseparable, so much so that the three boys had been dubbed collectively by their parents "The Three Musketeers"; their camaraderie the result of a shared experience last summer when they had found themselves stranded at the remote railway station of St. Jean de Maurienne high in the French Alps.

In their wake came young Bobby Branson and ten year old Simon Crawley clutching his teddy bear Oscar upon whom these days he kept a very close eye, the more so since the previous summer when, on board the Rome Express, "kidnapped" by both Danny and Robert, Simon's beloved bear had been put "on trial" for all manner of heinous "crimes" and duly sentenced to death by hanging and dismemberment: the entire "legal" proceedings relayed gleefully by the two elder boys to Simon and Bobby, through the keyhole of the locked door between their respective sleeping compartments. Behind the boys there came Saiorse, Danny and Bobby's sister, and last but by no means least, Fritz, Max's beloved dachshund, the little dog's claws clicking noisily on the sun baked flagstones of the terrace.

Slightly perspiring, eyeing the jug of ice cold lemonade standing on the table, Matthew nodded his approval.

"I think I'm about ready for some of that". Having poured himself a glass, Matthew sank down wearily in the nearest empty chair. "Yes, yes, boys, I promise! We'll play another game of cricket later this afternoon". Catching sight of Tom snoozing beside him, Matthew smiled. "That is, after your dear old Uncle Tom has finished his afternoon nap".

"Less of the old, if you please!" mumbled Tom.

"Grand, for sure, Uncle Matthew," laughed Danny.

"What shall we do now?" asked Bobby.

Simon shrugged.

"Search me!"

"I know, why don't we all go down to the stream and try and tickle the trout," suggested Robert.

"Yes!" This from Max. He was not at all sure what Rob meant by what he had just said but it sounded fun.

"Let's not". Saiorse scowled.

"Have it your own way, sis".

Saiorse glared at Danny.

"I will!"

She folded her arms and, when quite certain that Ma wasn't looking, promptly stuck out her tongue. Not of course that it made any difference as a moment later, followed by a barking Fritz, the five boys were heading off back down the steps of the terrace.

"Max, don't run so fast!" called his mother. Not that Max seemed to have heard her but even if he had, he certainly didn't take any notice. Instead, the constraints long placed upon him by his haemophilia presently forgotten, just like any healthy ten year old boy, sunburned, happy, and carefree, running like the wind, Max led his cousins across the new mown grass, heady with the rich smells of hay, clover, and lucerne, towards the distant stream.

Saiorse continued to glower at the retreating forms of the five boys.

While she had a very soft spot for her young Austrian cousin Max, Saiorse had no finer feelings whatsoever for her English cousin Robert, the eldest of Uncle Matthew and Aunt Mary's three children; partly on account of the fact that whenever Robert and her adored elder brother Danny were together, Saiorse found herself excluded from their games. Now, whether this was actually true or just a perception on her part, Saiorse never stopped to think. Not, of course, that that she had much time for her brother Bobby either who, as far as Saiorse was concerned, was just as thick as thieves with Robert's younger brother, Simon. As for Rebecca, Saiorse's youngest Crawley cousin, well she only liked playing with her dolls; Saiorse had no time for her whatsoever. And just now, Uncle Matthew hadn't helped at all; referring to "the boys" as if she herself wasn't even there!

"I really think I should look in on Dermot". Sybil rose slowly from her chair. "Saiorse, darling, do you want to come?"

Without turning round, Saiorse shook her head, rested her elbows on the balustrade of the terrace, and silently plotted how best to exact her revenge.

"And I should do the same with Kurt," voiced Edith who, now likewise having risen to her feet, linked arms with her younger sister. Her own eyes closed, Mary smiled. There was something to be said for having a nanny after all. Especially now …

But before Sybil or Edith had taken more than a few steps towards the house, Kleist, the elderly butler appeared out on the terrace to announce in a sonorous tone the arrival here at Rosenberg of unexpected visitors.

 **Author's Note:**

Engelbert Dollfuss was indeed diminutive and stood but 4 feet 11 inches in height. In the Viennese coffee houses of the period a small black coffee was nicknamed a "Dollfuss"; black being the colour of the Chancellor's own political party.

Adolf Hitler had been sworn in as Chancellor of Germany in January 1933. Following the Reichstag fire and the passing of the Reichstag Fire Decree and the Enabling Act by the time of the Bransons' and the Crawleys' visit to Rosenberg, Germany was effectively a de facto legal dictatorship.

In fact Matthew and Tom were mistaken about Herr Hitler's rank. During the Great War he served as a _Gefreiter_ \- lance corporal – in the Bavarian Army.

Built in 1930, the _Innisfallen_ was later sunk by a mine in the River Mersey in December 1940 during WWII.

Introduced by the Southern Railway in May 1929, and running between London Victoria and Dover, The Golden Arrow was a luxury Pullman train. It ceased running in 1972.

 _Search me_ an English idiom and a customary response when one does not know the answer to a question.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Imperial Twilight

 **Eckartsau, Lower Austria, 23rd March 1919.**

Some fifty miles north east of Vienna, on the cold, damp, watery plain of the Marchfeld, at the imperial hunting lodge of Eckartsau, the Solemn Pontifical Mass at which Bishop Seydl had officiated and seven year old Crown Prince Otto had served as altar boy, was now over.

Within the crowded, richly ornamented, Baroque chapel of the _schloss_ , most of the congregation were openly in tears, among them Hauptman Friedrich von Schönborn of the _Kaiserliche und Königliche_ _Luftfahrtruppen._ Nonetheless, all rose to their feet in unison and stood to sing the _Kaiserhymne_ : the imperial anthem of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Not of course that any of those present could ever have known it at the time but this would prove to be the very last occasion on which it would ever be sung here in Austria before the Emperor who, along with his wife and young family, were all sitting together up in the gallery above the rest of the congregation seated down below in the body of the chapel.

Several hours later, with dusk fast falling, arm in arm, the Emperor and the Empress came slowly down the steps of the main staircase of the hunting lodge and into the stone flagged hall. As they did so, completely unbidden, in silent reverence, everyone fell to their knees; Friedrich himself thinking back to the time when from the hands of the Emperor, out at the windswept military airfield near Wiener Neustadt, he had received the Military Merit Cross with crossed swords, awarded to him for bravery in the skies over the Isonzo Front.

A lifetime ago.

How had it ever come down to this?

Like many of those kneeling about him on the cold flagstones of the hall, Friedrich was well aware that he was a witness to history being made as the Emperor Karl, his wife Zita, and their young family began their tearful goodbyes to the handful of servants, soldiers, and local people who had remained steadfastly loyal to the Habsburg dynasty following those terrible, dark days back in November 1918 when, in the aftermath of both military defeat and the end of the Great War, the sprawling, centuries old Austro-Hungarian Empire had disintegrated; collapsing like a veritable house of cards with everything descending into chaos, disorder, and violence. Now, as the imperial family made ready to leave Austria and go into exile, even the weather chose to match the sombreness of the occasion; outside the sky suddenly darkened and it began to rain heavily.

At length, with the sad business of farewells at last concluded, under the ever watchful eye of Lieutenant-Colonel Strutt and a detachment of British soldiers, the Emperor and his family boarded the motor cars which would take them to the little station at Kopfstetten where the imperial train stood waiting to carry them away from Austria and into exile in Switzerland.

* * *

 **Ballroom, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, January 1932.**

Seated on a chair beside the double doors of the Ballroom, Max looked on as his parents and some of their guests executed the intricate steps to a _Ländler_ , an Austrian folk dance which appeared to be much more complicated than those of the waltz which Max and his mother had practised together for the very first time on Christmas Day. Now, as he continued to watch, above the music, snatches of conversation came fleetingly to his ears: about the weather, going hunting in the woods for wild boar, who had been at a house party which had been held somewhere or other, there had been more trouble in Vienna ... Max thought fleetingly of Ezra and the others he had met in Leopoldstadt; hoped they were safe.

A moment later, Max's ears pricked up, suddenly aware and painfully so that he himself was now the subject of a conversation. Knew intuitively that people were looking at him. Max blushed red.

"The boy? Well, just look at him. Isn't it obvious? He's Schonborn's ..."

The low laughter which came hard on the heels of this exchange was unlike any which Max had ever heard before. It certainly didn't sound like the laughter he was used to hearing - when, Papa and Mama found something amusing. And that word - _Rotzbengel_ \- spoken about himself - said as it had been in a half, hushed whisper sounded as though it was something of which he ought to be ashamed.

* * *

The _Ländler_ drew inevitably to its close but just before it came finally to an end Baroness Arnstein seated herself on the empty chair beside him; saw that Max's face was very red.

"What is it?" she asked quietly.

Max coloured still further.

"It's nothing," he said miserably and sniffed.

"Now, you don't strike me as the kind of boy to cry over nothing. So, let's both start by agreeing that isn't true, shall we?"

Max half turned on his chair; looked up at the Baroness. There was something in her manner which reminded him instinctively of Mama. What it was he couldn't say but he found himself warming to this lady whom he had met for the very first time not an hour since. Saw her bestow upon him a dazzling smile which gave Max the courage to ask her what he then did.

"May I ... may I ask you something first?" he asked hesitantly.  
"But of course".

"What's a _Rotzbengel_? Someone said that's what I am ... Papa's _Rotzbengel_ ".

* * *

People, thought Eva, could be so very cruel.

Even, it seemed, to a child.

Which was unforgivable.

Yet, here in Austria, while it had been Manfred's wife, Julia, who had left him, as Manfred's mistress, Eva, who hailed from Budapest, the capital of Hungary, had found herself ignored and snubbed, just as much as had Edith, by members of so-called polite society. Had experienced in equal measure, both prejudice and bigotry. Had been the subject too of both gossip and tittle tattle. Gradually, she had become inured to it all yet now, despite her carefully crafted carapace and poise, Eva was unable to contain her astonishment at what Max had just told her.

And it showed.

Markedly so.

The boy saw it too.

"Who on earth said that?"  
"Someone here, in this room. I don't know who exactly," said Max, looking about him, his voice faltering.

Eva was on the point of telling Max that he must be mistaken, that he had misheard but something stopped her from doing so. Knew that she had, in part, brought this upon herself by asking him in the first place, what it was that was the matter. He had been honest with her and she realised that here, for all of his young years, was someone with whom she should deal openly. If she could not unsay what had been said by denying that it had ever been spoken, then she could restore Max's pride in himself.

"Well, it's not a very nice thing to say, about anyone".

"Oh!" Max flushed; looked down at his feet. Not that he was surprised. In his heart he had known it must be so.

"Will you tell me something?" Baroness Arnstein asked brightly.

Max's head snapped up.

"What do you want to know?" he asked.  
"Who here in this very room matters most of all to you?"

"Why, Papa and Mama". Max sounded puzzled that she should even have asked him such a thing.

Eva nodded her head, evidently in full agreement.

"That was what I expected you to say".

"Then ..."

"Why do you suppose that to be so?"

"Because ..."

"Because you love them and they love you?"  
Max nodded.

"Yes. Very much," he whispered.

"You see, where people are concerned, what matters most, is that you have the love and respect of those whom you yourself love and respect. When all is said and done, whatever others may say, or do, doesn't really matter. In fact, it doesn't matter at all".

Looking up, Max saw his mother had come to stand in front of them. Exactly how long she had been there was impossible to know but evidently there had been time enough for her to hear what was being said. Edith smiled warmly at Eva.

"Thank you for those very kind words". She now turned her attention swiftly to Max. "As for you, young man, I think it's high time you were in bed. But before then, I've something to ask you".

"Mama?"  
"Would you do me the honour?" She held out her hand to him.

" **Me** , Mama?"

"Yes, you! Who else?"

Rising to his feet, it was only now that Max appreciated that everyone else present had drawn back to the sides of the room and, for the most part, had fallen silent.

He turned and bowed to the Baroness; executed another perfect _baisse main_. He raised his head; their eyes met.

"Thank you," Max said softly.

"Now, remember what I just told you," Eva said with a smile.

Max nodded his head.

"I will".

There was nothing further to be said.

To a ripple of softly appreciative applause, taking his mother by the hand, Max led her to the middle of the ballroom where he saw her turn and nod briefly to the small orchestra. Max bowed gravely from the waist and Mama sketched a curtsy. A moment later, as first tinkling notes of _The Snow Waltz_ spilled out across the vast room, they began to dance, before shortly thereafter those others present took to the floor, Max and his mother soon lost to sight, midst the swirling milieu of other couples.

* * *

 **Baja, Hungary, 31st October 1921.**

When in March 1919 the Habsburgs had left Austria to go into exile in Switzerland, there had been a detachment of British soldiers on hand, there not only to protect them but also as a guard of honour. Earlier today, here in Baja, a contingent of British sailors had lined the quayside but there any similarity with the events of March 1919 ended. For, after two attempts, made by the emperor to regain the Kingdom of Hungary, both of which had ended in abject failure, the Allies had finally had enough. It was time, as they saw it, to put an end to the continuing intrigues on the part of Karl von Habsburg and his scheming wife Zita. And, in order to achieve this, to exile the emperor and empress permanently from the European mainland before they could cause any further mischief and once again jeopardise the fragile post war settlement here in Central Europe.

So, while today every courtesy had been extended to the imperial couple, the British sailors lining the quayside in Baja had been there neither for their protection nor as a guard of honour but rather to ensure that no attempt was made to rescue them by those yet still loyal to the Habsburg dynasty.

Now, as the emperor and his wife came on board the Royal Navy monitor, HMS _Glowworm_ , riding gently at anchor out on the cold, grey waters of the River Danube, with the captain insisting both of them were his "honoured guests", even though they were in effect his prisoners, neither of them knew where it was they were they being taken, nor if their children, all of whom were still in Switzerland, would ever be allowed to join them.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

In its wake trailing a cloud of choking dust, the powerful 8 litre maroon liveried Maybach Zeppelin positively purred its way up the long drive leading to Rosenberg. Inside the motor the man seated behind the steering wheel turned again to the beautifully coiffured and elegantly clad woman sitting beside him. Seeing the expression on her face, he smiled. When but a moment later he spoke, he had to shout above the roar of the engine to make himself heard.

"Darling, do stop worrying! Rest assured, they'll both be absolutely delighted".  
"Maybe. But calling here unannounced ..."

"As if that really counts for anything nowadays. Besides, as I told you before, they'll be overjoyed!"  
"If you say so".  
"I **do** say so!" He patted her knee; he hoped reassuringly. "Now ..." Despite the throaty roar from the engine and there being no-one else to hear him, he lowered his voice. " ... as to the other matter of which I spoke earlier. Circumstances being what they are presently ... that is to say, unpropitious, our friends in Buda are all firmly of the opinion that a resolution of the same must wait a while longer".

"I see".

"I'm glad that you do".

"But, if, as you say, this ..."

"There must not be a repetition of what happened the last time. That being so, to act prematurely in this ... the consequences could prove fatal ... for all of us".

"That I can well believe," she said, nodding her head.

"And, not a word ... either to Friedrich or to Edith".

"Of course not, no. But I thought you said you intended to speak to Frie ..."  
He inclined his head.

"So I did. And so I will. But only when I judge the time to be right. And one thing more ..."  
"Which is?"  
"For God's sake, woman, smile!"

A few moments later, its wheels crunching on the gravel, the Maybach Zeppelin came to a stand before the front door of the mansion.

* * *

 **Quinta do Monte, Monte, Madeira, 1st April 1922.**

The destination for the exiled emperor and empress, now aboard the British light cruiser HMS _Cardiff,_ had turned out to be the infinitely remote island of Madeira, a possession of the Portuguese Republic, lying some six hundred miles from the European mainland.

* * *

With little money and the emperor in poor health, a local banker kindly offered the all but destitute family - the children having joined their parents here in February 1922 - the use of his villa, the Quinta do Monte, perched high in the hills, in Monte, overlooking the capital, Funchal.

While exceedingly grateful for this kind act of generosity on the part of one of the owners of Reid's Hotel, the villa itself was in fact only fit for habitation during the heat of the summer. In winter, with no proper fuel, it was both cold and damp. Early in March, having caught a chill walking back up to Monte, the emperor found himself confined to bed. Pneumonia set in and, on 1st April 1922, at the young age of but thirty four, the Emperor Karl breathed his last. His final words to his wife, heavily expectant with their eighth child were: "I love you so very much".

The heir to the vanished thrones of both Austria and Hungary was an eleven year old boy - Crown Prince Otto - and it was to him that his widowed mother now did homage, not in Vienna, nor even in Budapest, but on a windswept speck of rock, far out in the wilds of the Atlantic Ocean.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

Here, where the cold, crystal clear waters of the stream entered a grove of alder and crack willow, the current at first slowed, then became sluggish, before broadening out into a deep, dark, reed fringed pool on the far side of which the stream once more quickened pace, flowing swiftly on, first towards the Krems, then at length south into the mighty Danube, and, hundreds of miles distant, at long last into the Black Sea.

Out of sight, close to where the twisted roots of a fallen oak tree thrust their way downwards through the mud of the overhanging bank and into the water, all but hidden among the tall green reeds, a solitary grey heron had been standing motionless in the shallows for some considerable amount of time, waiting patiently to spear himself a meal but so far without success. This was partly because, beneath the surface of the water, the skein of tangled roots of the fallen oak provided a safe haven for all manner of small fish such as chub, carp, perch, and trout, so well out of the reach of the probing, sharp beak of the heron. Now, hearing the sound of the boys approaching his lonely haunt, disconsolate, and with a slow beat of wings, croaking loudly, the heron rose majestically from the reeds and soared away to try his luck further downstream.

But the grey bird was not the only predator in these parts presently baulked of his prey.

Away from the bank, out in the middle of the pool, there in its watery depths, the huge, razor toothed pike remained all but motionless, and bided his time.

* * *

"Manfred! Eva, darling!"

Letting go of Sybil's arm, Edith quickly crossed the terrace where she was kissed and warmly embraced by each of her unexpected visitors. With Friedrich having now greeted their guests, turning to her sisters and brothers-in-law, Edith introduced them to ...

"Friedrich's cousin, Manfred. And this ... this is his ... companion, Baroness Arnstein".

Eva laughed; shook her head.

"Darling, you're woefully behind the times!" Held out her left hand, on the fourth finger of which was a magnificent diamond ring and a slim gold band.

"Married! Oh, my dear, how absolutely wonderful. But when? Where? And why on earth didn't you let us know?"

"Last week, in Nice. It was a spur of the moment thing! But you know Manfred! So, with his annulment from Julia finally having been granted ..."

"And how is the delightful Julia?" asked Friedrich; common courtesy dictating that he did so, even if he had never liked the woman.

Where his detested ex-wife was concerned, Manfred had no such sensibilities.

"Decaying, I hope," he observed coldly.

An awkward silence ensued, deftly ended by Friedrich.

"This really calls for a celebration! Shall we ..." He indicated the wicker chairs. "And Feist ..."  
"Sir?"  
"Fetch up a bottle of the Dom Perignon '26".

* * *

For her part, having heard earlier, and at length, from Edith just how fond was Eva of darling Max, and he of her, Mary was prepared to dislike Baroness Arnstein on sight; drawing some satisfaction from the fact that in terms of her social position as a countess, she out ranked her. That and the fact that since 1919, here in Austria the nobility had been abolished, along with all the privileges which once had been enjoyed by the members of the aristocracy. Several nights earlier, over dinner, Friedrich had explained that this abolition extended to those of such rank living in lands once ruled by the Habsburgs such as Bohemia and Croatia, and included Hungary - from where Eva herself hailed.

Not of course that Mary let her inner feelings show; she was far too poised for that. Instead, assuming a mask of aristocratic inscrutability, she shook hands, just as Matthew had done, first with Manfred and then with Eva, before exchanging the customary pleasantries that one did on such occasions while at the same time bestowing upon Eva, a perfect acid drop of a smile.

 **Author's Note:**

Save for the fictitious presence of Friedrich, the departure of the Habsburgs from Austrian soil in March 1919 took place exactly as described. The British officer and soldiers had been dispatched to Austria on the orders of no less a personage than King George V himself so as to ensure the safety of the Emperor and his family and prevent a repetition of what had befallen the Romanovs in Russia in July 1918.

For Friedrich's bravery as a fighter pilot during the Great War, see my other stories, _The Rome Express_ and _The Snow Waltz_.

The two attempts made by the emperor and his wife to regain the Kingdom of Hungary in 1921 were thwarted by a combination of factors, including threats of military invention by those states, both new and old which had either been created out of the wreckage of the Austro-Hungarian Empire or else profited from its demise. The fact that the Regent of Hungary, Miklós Horthy, the last commander of the Imperial and Royal Navy, refused to support the Emperor proved fatal to Karl's cause.

While it may be argued that in attempting to regain the throne of Hungary, Karl and Zita had forfeited any considerations they could have expected to receive as a former emperor and empress, the treatment meted out to the exiled Habsburgs both by the Allies and the republican government in Vienna was an utter disgrace.

Reid's Hotel, the most expensive hotel in Madeira, is still there in Funchal. However, the Villa Victoria which formed an annexe to it, and where Karl and Zita stayed before their children joined them, has long since been demolished.

The Quinta do Monte and its gardens, known today as the Quinta Jardins do Imperador, may be visited along with the outside of the house (gutted in the forest fires of 2016 and yet to be restored). The chapel and tomb of the Emperor Karl may be seen in the nearby parish church of Nossa Senhora do Monte.

The _Adelsaufhebungsgesetz_ of 1919 had abolished nobility as well as all noble privileges, titles and names in Austria.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Gone Fishing

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

Well versed in doing what was required of her on this kind of occasion, Mary continued to make small talk, nodded, smiled, all she hoped at the appropriate junctures, at the same time doing her very best to ignore Eva's irritating prattle. That she herself was feeling slightly queasy did not help matters nor improve her ill humour. No doubt it was something she had eaten. The courses served at last night's dinner, especially the fish sauce, had all been very rich. So too, luncheon today.

Perhaps this evening she would ask Edith to have something light prepared for her on a tray which could then be taken in her room. Hopefully Edith would not take it as a personal slur either against her or the abilities of her cook. For, there was no gainsaying the fact that ever since their arrival here at Rosenberg, both Friedrich and Edith had gone out their way to make everyone feel most welcome.

* * *

For her part, Sybil was delighted to learn that Eva and she shared a bond of sorts in that the baroness had served as an auxiliary nurse on the Eastern Front during the Great War. But with Sybil's knowledge of that part of Europe being non existent, the places Eva mentioned in passing meant nothing at all.

* * *

"And has anything been heard of them since?" asked Friedrich who had enquired, politely, what had become of Julia and her Russian lover, Count Feodor Novositski, both of whom had sailed for the United States on board the German liner _Bremen_ back in January 1932.

"No. Not really. The very last we heard was that they were in Texas, or some such godawful place!" Manfred curled his lip before giving a thin smile; promptly set down his glass of champagne sharply on the edge of the table where, unnoticed by him, the coupe wobbled ominously, until that was, Eva reached forward and moved it unobtrusively out of harm's way.

"Texas?"

"Or was it Florida? Down in what the Americans call _The Keys_. Miami wasn't it?"

"You know very well it was!" laughed Eva who seemed not in the slightest perturbed by the turn the conversation had now taken.

"A fascinating place, Florida" offered Tom. "The Everglades ... all water, swamps, pine trees, palms, saw grass, cypress, and mangrove forests," he added as if quoting from memory. "Of course there are alligators, crocodiles, snakes, and hurricanes to contend with there too for sure but ..."

"Just how on earth do you know all of that?" asked Sybil, clearly astonished. She never ceased to marvel at Tom's unexpected store of knowledge.

"Darlin', I didn't. At least not until the day before yesterday and for which you can thank Friedrich's set of the _Encyclopedia Britannica._ That and the fact that a while ago Danny - he's our eldest by the way - told me about a set of photographs he'd seen in an old magazine, of a railway somewhere out in the United States: "The Overseas Railroad". The name sounded intriguing. I was curious. So, I looked it up. A real engineering feat that, building a railway over the sea, southwards from Miami, all the way down to the Florida Keys!"

Mary sighed inwardly.

Just what was it with men and machines?

Matthew and Robert were just as bad; Matthew especially so, and possessed of what Mary herself considered to be an unhealthy obsession with speed for which she, in part, blamed Tom who had taught Matthew how to drive. Not only brothers-in-law but ever since they became so, the very best of friends; the two of them as thick as a pair of thieves. And, before they all had journeyed up to London to take passage for the Continent, following the Bransons' arrival at Downton, from snatches of conversation she had _contrived_ to overhear - by the simple expedient of listening in at the door to the Billiards Room - Mary knew that Matthew and Tom were plotting some kind of escapade. Had heard mention made by Tom of a place called _Bremgarten_ in which Matthew himself had seemed inordinately interested ...

* * *

 _"Count me in," said Matthew, setting down his empty glass._

 _"What about Mary?"_  
 _"Oh, leave her to me, old boy. I know how just how to handle her ..."_

The casual, offhanded, flippancy of Matthew's remark, speaking of her as though she was some truculent heifer down at Home Farm to be prodded and herded into line, along with the laugh which followed it, caused Mary a sudden, rapid intake of breath the sound of which almost gave away her presence standing there in the darkness on the far side of the Billiards Room door.

 _"What was that?" asked Tom._

 _"What was what?"  
"I thought I heard something ..."_

 _"Tom, Downton's an old house - it makes noises. Fancy another snifter?"_

 _"For sure"._

* * *

Mary heard the chink of crystal followed by the sound of liquid being poured into glasses. She permitted herself a rueful smile; knowing Tom it was probably whiskey.

 _"And Sybil?" asked Matthew._

 _"Ah, leave **her** to me for sure!" echoed Tom with a laugh._

 _"And while we're all at Rosenberg, I'll ask Friedrich, discretely mind, if he'd like to bring young Max along"._

 _"_ _Danny and Rob will love that, f_ _or sure!"_

 _"Well, then here's to Bremgarten!_

 _"Grand!"  
"Cheers!"_

Over my dead body, thought Mary.

* * *

Now, even to her linguistically untutored ears the name _Bremgarten_ had sounded decidedly German so, when the other day, here at Rosenberg, the opportunity had presented itself for her to do so, Mary had made a discrete enquiry of Edith. On learning that _Bremgarten_ was a racing circuit near Bern in Switzerland, where it was planned to hold a motor racing Grand Prix next year, merely served to confirm Mary's suspicions.

Having no interest in Eva's incessant, inconsequential chatter about people and places of whom and in which Mary had no interest whatsoever, she found herself thinking back to last year and their final day in Italy, standing on the platform of the railway station in Florence, waiting to board _The Rome Express_ for the return journey home to England.

* * *

 **Santa Maria Novella Railway Station, Florence, Italy, August 1932.**

"And? Are yous any the wiser, for sure?" Tom asked, lofting an inquisitive brow towards her, as, together with Matthew, Danny, Robert, and Max, along with Fritz still trotting along on his improvised leash, Mary herself now re-joined Tom and Sybil who were standing beside the door to their coach.

Matthew grinned broadly at Tom while for her part Mary merely grimaced.

"Apparently, the engine's an ..." she began through gritted teeth.

"E626," put in Robert helpfully.

"Built in 1930," chimed Danny enthusiastically.

"In Italy," added Max proudly.

"Yes, that's right. An E626, built in 1930, in Italy," repeated Mary tonelessly. "Boys, I do feel so much the better for knowing all of that".

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

Honestly, men!

* * *

"Now, if the rest of you don't mind, I'm sure you've all lots to talk about anyway, but I really think Sybil and I should go and look in on our two little boys. We'll be back directly," said Edith once again linking arms with her younger sister.

Again Mary sighed. Being left here with Eva was the very last thing she wanted but it was either that or else follow her sisters inside and listen to them cooing and fussing over their latest offspring.

* * *

As, arm in arm, Edith and Sybil disappeared inside the house, Manfred reached forward and raised his glass in salutation.

"Well, then, a toast! To alligators, crocodiles, snakes, hurricanes, and swamps. And not necessarily in that order. May darling Julia encounter one and all! Preferably at the same time. That way at least one of them will put an end to ..."

"Manfred ..." Eva laid a gently restraining hand on her husband's arm only too well aware just how much Julia's desertion had hurt him.

He turned his head and nodded.

"Yes, well ..." Manfred fell silent; stared into space.

"And just where is darling Max?" asked Eva deftly changing the subject.

* * *

As he watched the bright green dragonfly first hover then settle among the yellow flags, for thirteen year old Danny Branson, it could just as well have been England instead of Austria. For, when he had first seen it the previous day, the stream, where cow parsley, dog rose, hazel, and elder grew in profusion, had reminded him instantly of Fell Beck on the Downton Abbey estate where dearest Grandpapa had first taught him what he called "the art of fly-fishing". That had been back in the summer of 1926 when Danny had been a little boy, scarce six years old.

 _Tap, tap, tap_. _Tap, tap, tap._

On hearing the sound, Danny now turned his head and glanced about him, before at last locating the source of the curious noise. A black and white, scarlet crested woodpecker, searching greedily for all manner of grubs high up in the bark of a nearby birch tree.

 _Tap, tap, tap._

"Isn't that stupid bear of yours getting awfully hot?" asked Robert, looking behind him to where, with Oscar seated beside them, telling the time by dandelion clocks, Simon and Bobby sat cross legged on a patch of greensward beside the edge of the pool. A short distance off, little Fritz contented himself trotting back and forth, sniffing suspiciously at several piles of fresh droppings lying outside the entrance to a rabbit warren.

"No, why on earth should he be?" asked Simon, immediately alert.

Danny gave a low chuckle, the deepness of which surprised him. Danny paused. His voice was doing this a great deal these days; high pitched one moment, low the next. Although, long ago, Ma had explained to him and Saiorse all about growing up, embarrassed nonetheless, Danny contrived a dry cough and cleared his throat.

"What ... Rob means ... for sure," he said falteringly, thankful that his voice had once again assumed its normal pitch, "is, dear little Oscar ... sitting out there in the hot sun. It can't be good for him".

"Without a hat ..."  
"He's not stupid. And he doesn't need a hat".

"All that thick fur too ..."

"And in this heat!" Robert shook his head in mock sympathy.

Simon had seen that look on his brother's face before; knew what it might betoken. Grinning conspiratorially at Danny, Robert laughed as he made a snipping motion with two of the fingers of his left hand.

Danny sniggered.  
"Ah, grand! And after little Oscar's had his fur trimmed, maybe ... maybe he'd like to cool off a bit, for sure?" Danny nodded in the direction of the pool.

"He's perfectly all right, thank you! And, no, he wouldn't!" yelled Simon now snatching up Oscar from where he was seated on the grass and holding him closely against his chest.

"Oh well, have it your own way!"

"I will!"

"But if he does start feeling hot ..." persisted Robert.

"He won't!" snapped Simon.

* * *

"So what do I do now?" asked Max turning his head and looking up expectantly, first at Danny and then at Rob kneeling one on either side of him, while he himself lay stretched out, flat on his tummy, on the short grass close to the fallen trunk of the oak tree. Rob smiled.

"Now, you saw where the trout swam under the bank?"  
Max nodded.

"Yes. It was ... about here". Max nodded to the spot just below where he was now lying. "At least, I think it was here".

"Well, what you need to do is, very gently, slide both your hands into the water beneath the bank, and then move them slowly inwards".

"Like this?"

Danny peered down over the edge of the mud bank, craning his neck in order to do so for, at this precise point, the overhang of the bank was much deeper undercut than either he or the other two had realised.

"That's it, Max. You're doing grand, for sure!"

Happy as a sand boy, Max grinned. So far, this had been a wonderful day. But then, that was hardly surprising. Being with Danny and Rob always proved to be such great fun.

"Feel anything?" asked Rob.

"No. Not yet".

Max reapplied himself to feeling in the water for the still as yet elusive trout. Quite what he was supposed to do if ever he found it, Max wasn't at all sure but no matter Danny and Rob would doubtless tell him.

"Rob, what on earth's that?" cried Danny in alarm. Grabbing his cousin's arm, he jabbed his forefinger to where a large fin broke the surface of the middle of the pond.

Attracted by the disturbance caused by Max's fingers wiggling below the surface of the water, swift as a flash of lightning, its mouth agape, displaying a maw of razor sharp teeth, the huge pike now moved in for the kill.

* * *

"Gone fishing," said Saiorse who presently was sitting perched on the balustrade and without so much as even looking at Eva. Then added quietly to herself, almost as an aside, "I'd like to have gone too".

Choosing to ignore the child's seeming indifference, Eva smothered a smile.

"Shall I let you into a secret?"  
"If you like ..." said Saiorse airily. Like her Aunt Mary, albeit for different reasons, she was in no real mood to make conversation.

"Well, when I was a girl, about the age you are now, I was just the same".

"Just the same?" echoed Saiorse.

"Yes"". Eva nodded. "You see, Jȯzsi and Nikolasz, my two brothers, they seemed to have all the fun. Going fishing. Climbing trees. Off with Tibor - he was our felügyelő ... our overseer, at Rózsafa".

"Rózsafa? What's that?"  
"My family's estate. That's in Hungary. A long way from here".

"Oh, I see".

"Anyway, I would much preferred to have gone along with my brothers but being a girl, my mother insisted I had to stay at home and learn how to be a lady".

"For sure? Really?" Saiorse eased herself down slowly from off the balustrade; now stood looking down at the baroness. Never could she imagine this beautiful, elegantly dressed, well spoken woman ever climbing trees or going fishing. Eva nodded again; now patted the empty chair beside her.

"Why don't you come over here and sit beside me. Then we can become better acquainted?"

For once, and without protest, Saiorse did as she was bidden and sat down beside the baroness.

Eva smiled.

"There now, that's much better. And it stops me getting a crick in my neck too".

Saiorse frowned. Eva saw that an explanation was called for.

"What I mean is, me sitting here, having to look up at you, sitting on there!" Eva nodded towards the marble balustrade.

"Oh, I see!"

Eva smiled again.

"Now, your Aunt Edith tells me you're very fond of your young cousin, Max?"  
"Yes, I am. Only, he's gone fishing too". Saiorse sighed. "I don't think Aunt Edith was very pleased. You see Max isn't very well. He has to take care of himself".

"Yes, I know".

"You do?"

Eva nodded.

"Something's wrong with his blood. Ma once told me what it was. But I've forgotten".

"Haemophilia".

"Yes, that's right". Saiorse nodded her head. "I think Max is very brave," she said emphatically. "Don't you think he's brave?"  
"Yes, I agree. He is. Very".

"Do your brothers still go fishing?"

"No," said Eva. She shook her head. "They were killed in the war. Both of them".

"Oh, I'm sorry"," said Saiorse.

"So am I".

* * *

A short while later both Edith and Sybil reappeared on the terrace, bringing with them young Rebecca who had finished her afternoon nap.

Mary's eyes narrowed; in her view, with the possible exception of darling Max, children ought always to be seen and not heard. While she knew both Edith and Sybil had a far more lenient attitude towards the rearing of their own offspring, she herself was not at all pleased either by Saiorse's presence here on the terrace nor by that now of her own daughter at what was undoubtedly a gathering of adults.

Rebecca smiled briefly at her mother, then made a bee-line across the terrace for her father who hugged her to him and promptly sat her on his knee.

* * *

Seeing Saiorse seated beside Eva, chattering away nineteen to the dozen, Sybil breathed a sigh of relief. She smiled. Thank goodness for small mercies; for once, Saiorse was being amenable. For his part, and somewhat tongue-in-cheek, Tom insisted that their daughter took after her mother in her mood swings. Being a nurse, and therefore of a rather more practical disposition, Sybil knew it was partly down to the fact that Saiorse was the only girl in a household of boys. This and the fact that, like Danny, Saiorse was now at an awkward age; beginning to grow up. All the same, not that Sybil would ever admit it, even to Tom, there was some truth in what he had said. After all, at the age Saiorse was now, Sybil had been just as difficult. In fact, at times, downright truculent.

* * *

Eva looked up

"Are they ..."  
"Fine, thank you. Still fast asleep the pair of them under the watchful eyes of Nanny Bridges". This from Sybil as she joined Tom standing over by the balustrade.

* * *

"And who is this pretty young lady?" asked Eva brightly, now turning to where Rebecca sat beside her on her father's knee.

Rebecca blushed; smiled shyly.

"My cousin, Rebecca," explained Saiorse dismissively. Given that she and the baroness had been rubbing along so well, Saiorse was not at all pleased when Eva suggested that her young cousin now join them.

* * *

"Liebling, don't worry. It's not far, and, besides, Danny and Robert will take very good care of him". Friedrich smiled.

Edith nodded.

"Yes, I suppose you're right".

"Well, then ..."

Long ago, both of them had agreed that they should not wrap Max up in cotton wool; all the same, the moment he was out of her sight, Edith began to worry.

* * *

"It's a pike!" yelled Robert.

"Max, get your hands out of the water!"

"What?"

As Danny and Rob grabbed for Max's hands, long weakened by the fall of the oak tree, thereafter undermined by years of constant scouring by the current, unable to support the weight of the three boys a moment longer, the overhanging bank shifted, then collapsed in an avalanche of falling mud and stones, flinging all three of them headlong into the pond.

* * *

"So what did you two find to talk about while we were gone?" asked Edith assuming a mask of cheerfulness and sitting down next to her Irish niece.

"Oh, we ... We were ..." Saiorse glanced at Eva who was chatting to Rebecca, asking her about the doll she had brought with her.

"Becoming better acquainted, weren't we, darling?" Eva smiled warmly at Saiorse and in spite of the business of Rebecca, Saiorse found herself smiling back.

* * *

Eva was now telling the two girls how, on the day after his tenth birthday, she had taken darling Max into Vienna where together they had both taken a ride on the Riesenrad, the enormous Ferris wheel in the amusement park known as the Wurstelprater and then visited the Tiergarten Schönbrunn which, explained Eva, was the oldest zoo in the world. Apparently, young Max had thoroughly enjoyed himself; the more so when Eva had rounded off their outing by taking him for tea and chocolate cake at the Central Café.

Although she herself had never visited an amusement park, if it was anything like the Statute Fair held annually in Downton, then Mary knew it would not be her cup of tea. In her view, the fair attracted all the wrong kind of people including riff raff and the hoi polloi. As far as Mary was concerned, it quite lowered the tone of the place and if she had had her way it would have been closed down years ago but, as both her late father and Matthew had been at pains to point out, it was held by statute, and that was that. Nothing could be done about it and in any case, it happened but once a year, which for Mary was once too often.

As for zoos, Mary thought them to be dirty, nasty, smelly places.

Several years ago, Matthew had taken Robert and Simon to London Zoo to see the lions. Or had it been tigers? Something with teeth anyway. In fact, much like Eva who, every time she opened her mouth displayed a positively perfect set. Pleading the exigencies of her "condition"- Mary had been expecting Rebecca at the time - she had stayed put in their suite at Claridges; Grantham House, which the Crawleys had owned for centuries, no longer being available, Matthew having insisted that it be sold to reduce what he called "unnecessary expenditure".

Mary found herself quietly amused by the thought of seeing Eva seated in a cage beneath a large notice bearing the words, " _Do Not Feed_ ". So, perhaps, as with nannies, there was something to be said for zoos after all.

 **Author's Note:**

Opened in 1912, the Overseas Railroad down to Key West was an extension of the Florida East Coast Railway. Widely known as the "Eighth Wonder of the World", much of it would be destroyed in the Labor Day Hurricane of 1935, a Category 5 Hurricane often called "The Storm of the Century". The line was never rebuilt.

The _SS Bremen_ was a German liner built for the company of Norddeutscher Lloyd in 1928.

Initially used for racing motorcycles, the circuit at Bremgarten would host its first motor car race in 1934.

Built in 1897, the Riesenrad was once the world's tallest ferris wheel.

Founded as an imperial menagerie in 1752, the Tiergarten Schönbrunn is indeed the world's oldest zoo.

"not be her cup of tea" - an English idiom meaning something not to someone's liking.

Opened in 1898, Claridges, in Mayfair, London, is a luxury hotel. Given its connections to royalty, it is often referred to as an annexe to Buckingham Palace.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Champagne, An Invitation, And A Trout

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

"So what about your honeymoon, darling?" Edith asked, still trying to take her mind off Max. Not that she would rest easy until he was back here, safe and sound, and standing before her.

"Well, now you come to ask, Manfred has promised to take me to Paris in September!"

"Paris! Oh, how romantic!" exclaimed Sybil.

Eva nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes. Very! _La ville d'amour_. A suite at the Georges V no less! Dinner at Maxim's. Of course, these days, it's frightfully difficult to get a table but fortunately Manfred is acquainted with M. Vaudable, so that did the trick. Then shows ... at the Moulin Rouge and the Bal Tabarin. And there's a divine little place too ... in Montparnasse which Manfred knows, where they dance the ... " In deference to the presence and youthfulness of the two girls seated one on either side of her, Eva paused before mouthing the word _Beguine_. "He really does spoil me, you know!" she added gaily; looking up to find that, sparkling with mirth, her husband's eyes were upon her.

"And you're worth every penny, my darling!" laughed Manfred, knowing only too well that when she had a mind to do so, Eva could charm the birds right out of the trees.

"The hotel you mentioned ... is that the same as the George V?" asked Sybil.

"Yes, indeed".

"We stayed there last summer on our way home from Italy, didn't we Edith?"  
"Hm? Yes," replied Edith, clearly _distrait_ , glancing once again towards the steps leading down to the garden. _The boys should have been back here by now_. All manner of scenarios continued to flit through her mind; none of them at all pleasant. Where on earth were they?

"Mary was very taken with the separate dining room for the children, weren't you darling?" Sybil laughed.

Her elder sister nodded; said nothing by way of reply, appearing to be lost in a world of her own.

"Weren't you, Mary?" repeated Sybil.

"Darling, I'm ever so sorry. What did you just say?"  
"I said the hotel to which Manfred is taking Eva for their honeymoon is the George V. The same one where we all stayed last year; where there was a separate dining room for the children".  
"Yes, that's right, we did," offered Mary airily.

Sybil shook her head in disbelief.

What on earth was the matter? She could understand Edith worrying over young Max but what had Mary to be concerned about?

Seated beside Eva, Saiorse looked down at the flagstones. For her, Ma's casual mention of that children's dining room in the hotel in Paris had evoked a particularly unpleasant memory.

* * *

 **Hotel Georges V, Paris, France, August 1932.**

"No, Miss Saiorse, not in there". Nanny Bridges indicated the sign pointing the opposite way, to the dining room reserved especially for nannies and their young charges.

"I'm not sitting in there with the babies!" Saiorse pulled a disagreeable face.

Here, in the pilastered _galerie_ of the magnificently appointed hotel, among a swirling milieu of well dressed, wealthy guests, young Saiorse Branson stood her ground. Legs akimbo, feet planted squarely on the ground, which in here took the form of a deep piled carpet, she now folded her arms; assuming an expression of open defiance Saiorse glowered first at Nanny Bridges and then more pointedly at Robert.

Unfortunately for Saiorse, Nanny Bridges could be just as intransigent. Mimicking the stance assumed by the most difficult of her young charges, Nanny too folded her arms; stared fixedly at the young Irish girl standing before her.

"Well, Miss Saiorse, either you do as I've just told you, or else it's back upstairs for you and no supper! So, which is it to be?"

At which point, unfortunately for Saiorse, her tummy rumbled.

Robert sniggered.

"Oh, very well!" Saiorse unfolded her arms.

"And you can take that look off your face too, young lady!"

Saiorse flushed.

"Now, if we're all quite ready?"

Save for that of Saiorse, the heads of the other six children nodded mutely in unison.

"Then, Master Danny, you can lead the way".

Whereupon, Nanny pointed in the direction of the children's dining room, and under her ever watchful eyes, a moment later they set off together, trooping across the crowded room, with Danny in front and, still smarting from being rebuked in public, Saiorse bringing up the rear.

Behind Nanny's back, feeling decidedly humiliated by having been shown up in front of all the others, Saiorse glared and continued to scowl. When Robert turned his head in her direction, she stuck out her tongue.

Nor had she forgotten that snigger.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

"In fact, why don't the two of you stay the night. That is unless, of course, you've made other plans ..." asked Edith brightly, still playing the part of the perfect hostess.  
"No not at all. Thank you. That would be lovely". Eva smiled knowingly at Manfred. Earlier in the motor, he had told her that if, as might well be expected, and they were invited to stay at Rosenberg, that they should accept the invitation.

"Then I'll tell Kleist to have two extra places laid at dinner and to ask Frau Lehner to see that the Habsburg Room is made ready for you".

"The Habsburg Room? My, my! We are moving in exalted circles!" laughed Eva.  
Edith smiled.

"No delusions of grandeur, please!"  
"But why the Habsburg Room?"  
"Because, at least according to Friedrich, years ago, some archduke is said to have slept in it".

Eva nodded.

Was it just a fortuitous coincidence or ... maybe a premonition?

* * *

Friedrich smiled to himself; this was starting to become rather tiresome. First Matthew who, shortly after the Bransons and the Crawleys had arrived here at Rosenberg, had quietly taken him aside at the foot of the main staircase, saying he had something to discuss. Then had promptly clammed up faster than the proverbial mollusc when quite unexpectedly, Mary had hove into view at the head of the stairs. Now, out here on the terrace, much the same from Manfred.

"My dear fellow, a quiet word, if you please". Manfred lowered his voice. "There's something we need to discuss".

"Indeed?"

"But not here".

"Where then?"

"At Rózsafa, where else?"

"What are you two talking about?" asked Edith coming to stand beside them.

"The weather! What else?" laughed Manfred now linking arms with her; said within Friedrich's hearing and clearly for his benefit:  
"Now, if you remember, you promised, the next time we were here, that you would give me some advice about roses ..."

Watching Edith and Manfred as they strolled away across the terrace, Friedrich sighed. He was still none the wiser what it was that Matthew or Manfred had wanted. Why on earth did life have to be so damned complicated?

* * *

To Mary's _chagrin_ , despite sitting here quietly in her chair, the slight feeling of nausea she had experienced earlier had persisted. That decided it. Whether or not she offended Edith in doing so, she would definitely ask for the cook to prepare a light meal for her this evening.

"Another glass?" enquired Friedrich of her with a smile.

"Thank you, but no". Mary shook her head and closed her eyes. If the others assumed she was merely enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sunshine, they were sorely mistaken.

"Ah, grand!"

"Tom! Do you really think you should?"

The Irishman winked broadly at his wife.

"For sure!"

"So, is this better than your ... Guinness?" asked Manfred, lofting an enquiring brow.

"You've heard of it, for sure?" Tom sounded slightly incredulous.

"But of course! Contrary to what you may have heard about Hungary, Herr Branson, we Magyars are not entirely savages!"

Tom laughed, twirled his glass of champagne, then ruefully shook his head.

" _Tom_ , please. A close run thing, but no. After all, they were brewing Guinness in Ireland before the snakes left; long, long before this was ever thought of for sure!"

* * *

Now, while Herr Branson continued to flirt light heartedly with his pretty wife, Manfred considered the possibilities presented thus far.

Of course, he had heard all about the earl of Grantham from Friedrich and so far, the man had proved to be everything Friedrich had said he was: charming, erudite, intelligent, and well-informed. Above all, if only because of a fortuitous marriage, he was also a member of the British aristocracy and so therefore a pillar of the British Establishment with important political connections. And with his involvement with the League of Nations was doubtless well aware of the inequities of the Treaty of Trianon. All of which could well prove ... useful.

So too, Herr Branson, who as Deputy Editor of an influential Irish newspaper would himself have other contacts, this time within the Press; not only in Britain but doubtless here in Europe and which could, at the appropriate juncture, also be exploited.

* * *

"So, what's Hungary like?" asked Sybil, who herself had now succumbed to the offer of a second glass of champagne.

"It's beautiful. Although, with Eva being Hungarian, and I myself having spent most of my leaves during the war at Rózsafa, on the Alföld, that's where we live, you'll say that I'm prejudiced!"

"No, not at all! The Alföld?"

"The Great Hungarian Plain and which makes up most of the country. Out there, why, even the very sky seems limitless. And beneath it, dotted with villages and farms, the country stretches away in all directions, as far as the eye can see, on and on into the distance, an endless vista of clumps of trees, rolling fields of corn, wheat, and grasslands, the last peppered with grazing flocks of long horned sheep, herds of silver grey cattle, black water buffaloes, and wild horses. And everywhere, the constant creak of the gémeskút; the sweep wells".

"Sweep wells?"

"The way we raise water and irrigate the land. The Arabs call them _shadoofs_. A T-shaped wooden structure with a bucket on one end and a weight on the other". Manfred made a rocking motion with his hands to indicate how a sweep wheel worked.

Sybil nodded.

"As for Budapest, it's really two towns: Buda up on the hill, and Pest down on the plain. In many respects, what with the trams and the Underground, it's very similar to any other capital city whether it be London, Paris, or even Dublin. There are wide boulevards like Nagykörút or Andrássy út - we've a villa there; Váci utca with all its shops, and Zrínyi utca with St. Stephen's Basilica at one end. There are squares, Hősök with its column and the figure of the Archangel Gabriel and all the other statues really is quite splendid. There are hotels - the Astoria, the St. Gellért, and the Grand Hotel Royal; the restaurants - we've dined at Gundel's and the food they serve there is divine. And the coffee houses like Ruszwurm near the Matthias Church, or Gerbeaud's in Pest - we bought pastries from there for young Max when last he was indisposed.

There's the Királyi Vár, that's the Royal Castle where the Regent now lives, perched high above the right bank of the Danube; the magnificent Parliament building fronting the river, much like the Houses of Parliament in London; the Chain Bridge, designed, I very much regret having to say, by an Englishman! And not far from our villa, is the Royal Opera House. There's the Magyar Nemzeti Múzeum - the National Museum, the the Szépművészeti Múzeum and the Kunsthalle both on Hősök tere, the Zeneakadémia the Music Academy, the Vigadó Concert Hall, and all the spas like the Gellért and the Széchenyi baths. Oh, yes, we're very sophisticated in Budapest - but I fear I must be boring you!"

"No, no, of course not. Please, do go on!" laughed Sybil.

"At Rózsafa, our estate, why, there you can ride for miles and miles without ever leaving it. Of course, it was once very much larger but over a third of the land formerly owned by Eva's family was lost when the area concerned was ceded to the Kingdom of Roumania at the end of the war".

Although none of this meant anything at all to Sybil, she saw Tom nod his head in understanding. But it was to Matthew to whom Manfred turned his attention and to whom his next question was directed.

"You, I presume, will have heard of the terms of that iniquitous treaty?"

Matthew inclined his head.

"Indeed. Who has not?" he said softly.

Matthew shot a brief glance at Tom but, diplomatically made no comment as to whether he himself thought the Treaty of Trianon which, in the aftermath of the end of the Great War, had brought about the dismemberment of the Kingdom of Hungary, leaving in its place but a rump of a landlocked state, to be iniquitous, as Manfred clearly thought it was.

* * *

If Manfred had expected a somewhat more robust response from Matthew, when it became evident that the earl of Grantham had no intention whatsoever of being drawn further on the matter of the treaty, good manners dictated that, at least for the present, Manfred did not pursue things further. Adept at concealing his disappointment, he simply shrugged his shoulders, seemingly without rancour adroitly changed tack and, with consummate ease, moved the conversation on to something far less contentious.

Manfred smiled.

"Of course, all of that is now in the past. I am given to understand from Edith, that you, Mary, are an an excellent horsewoman?"

Mary demurred.

"Yes, she is". This from Sybil.

"Well, at Rózsafa, we have stables - no Hungarian estate worthy of the name is without them - our horses are Mezőhegyes English full bloods, descended from the Austrian Imperial and Hungarian Royal Apostolic Stud".

At the mention of stables and then horses, whether or not she was feeling indisposed, Mary's ears pricked up. Riding was one of her passions.

"Indeed?" Mary forced a smile.

"I would deem it a singular honour to show them to you".

"Thank you. You're being very kind".

"Not at all. While you're here in Austria, you really must come and visit with us".

"Yes why don't you?" asked Eva.

* * *

A short time earlier Manfred had been the observer but although he did not know it, the tables had been turned for, as he continued to wax lyrical about the delights of Rózsafa, of horses, of riding, and a host of other inconsequential matters, he himself was now under scrutiny ... by none other than Tom.

Manfred had said the Trianon treaty was in the past but why raise it? And, why too, the insistence that they all visit Rózsafa? Maybe the invitation was nothing more than what it appeared to be; however, Tom could not shake off the suspicion that something else lay behind it.

* * *

In and out of reformatories since they were both boys, a spot of poaching came easily to Frau Eder's nephew Hans, the black sheep of the family, and his pal Dieter Gruber.

From where they had been fishing, well out of sight, hidden among the bull rushes and the tall reeds on the far side of the pond, on seeing what had happened, the two young men rushed to help pull the three boys from out of the water; aided in their endeavours, to some degree, by Bobby and Simon, while little Fritz barked encouragement for all his worth.

Back on dry land, save for being filthy and soaked to the skin, having thanked their rescuers, all seemed to be well, until that was Danny and Rob saw the cut on Max's knee; in itself, the wound wasn't that deep but from it blood had begun to trickle.

"Your knee!" Danny gasped.  
Max nodded.

"I know," he said and grimaced.

Hans guffawed.

"Why, it ain't no more than a scratch but here ..." Hans knelt down on the grass, pulled out from his pocket a none too clean handkerchief and tied it tightly around Max's injured knee. "There now, that will have to do, least until you get home".

"Thank you". Max smiled wanly.

"Where you from?"

"Rosenberg".

Hans and Dieter exchanged knowing glances. They had no business being here, but times were hard, and surely the _Graf_ up at the _schloss_ would not begrudge them a few fish.

"You've not far to go then".

"No".

"What about this?" asked Dieter. In his upturned hands, he now held out a large trout; along with other debris, the deluge caused by the bank collapsing into the pond had thrown the fish clear out of the water and onto the grass, where it had promptly expired.

"Take it home for your supper?" laughed Hans.

"In what?"

"First promise you'll say nothing about having seen us here".

"I promise," said Max solemnly.

Hans smiled

"Well, then ..."

* * *

"And dear young Max is such a credit to the two of you. So well mannered and always so neatly turned out ..." Eva paused, open mouthed with incredulity.

The brown dachshund now trotting across the terrace she recognised as being Fritz, while behind the little dog, at the top of the flight of steps leading down to the gardens, there appeared a group of five boys, one of whom was clutching a teddy bear. Surprisingly, the dachshund was by far the cleanest member of the ensemble; three of his young companions being flecked with pond weed, spattered with mud, and soaked to the skin, while one of the trio had a sodden, makeshift bandage tied around his knee, through which blood was oozing and trickling down his leg.

"Oh my God! **Max**!" In a trice, Edith was up and out of her chair, scurrying across the terrace, and kneeling beside her son.

* * *

"Mama! I caught a trout!"

Despite Danny having offered to carry it back from the pond - an offer which he had politely spurned - with some difficulty Max now set down the poachers' wicker basket and undid the lid. Curious to ascertain what it was the basket contained, Fritz trotted over to inspect the contents. There, on a bed of reeds, lay a large rainbow trout.

"Uncle Manfred! Aunt Eva! These are my cousins: Danny and Rob. And this is Simon and Bobby," Max announced proudly. Embarrassed, the other boys simply smiled; remained standing where they were, and nervously shuffled their feet. Realising that some account was now called for regarding their bedraggled state, Max proceeded to explain what had happened at the pond.

"A pike nearly bit my fingers! It was huge, Mama!" Max spread his arms and hands wide. "Then the bank gave way and we - well, Danny, Rob and I - fell into the water. We ... got a bit wet!" Completely unconcerned either by his own appearance or, at least for the moment, by the injury to his knee. Max grinned at his mother. Far from being amused, stony faced, Edith looked up, first at Max, and then across at Danny and Rob, before giving full rein to a very rare and public display of anger.

" **A bit wet**! Is that all you can say? Just look at the state of you! And as for you two, why, you're older than he is! How on earth could you have let this happen? Either of you; when you promised to look after him!"

"We're very sorry, Aunt Edith. We didn't mean to ..." began Danny contritely, clearly upset; once again his voice conspiring to embarrass him, growing deeper, before resuming its normal pitch.

"No of course you didn't _mean_ to but why on earth did you let him ..."

"It wasn't their fault, Mama ..."

Edith rounded angrily on her son.

"As for you, young man, **you** of all people should know better than to behave like this!" At the same time she was searching Max's face for some flicker of contrition on his part. At last beneath the flecks of mud and the cheeky grin which always melted her heart, Edith found what she was looking for. Max's next words confirmed that she had not been mistaken.

"I'm awfully sorry, Mama. Really, I am". Beneath his mask of mud, Max blushed furiously unused as he was to being rebuked in public. He winced; the blood draining from his face. His knee was beginning to throb most painfully. Seeing his distress, heedless of her clothes, Edith hugged him tightly to her.

"I know darling, I know".

Friedrich, who had come to stand beside the boys, now rallied to their defence.

"Liebling, you can hardly blame Danny and Rob for this. Any of it. _Jungen sind nun mal so_ ," he said softly. "As for the fish, why, it's quite splendid!"

"No, of course not. I'm sorry, boys". Blinking back her tears, Edith looked at Danny and Rob, then back at Friedrich, and finally inside the basket. "Why, so it is".

His face now chalk white, Max crumpled forward against his mother.

"Mama, I think I'm going to ..."

" **Max**!"

"Here, let me ..." Gently, Friedrich cradled his young son in his arms and, followed but a whisper away by Edith, now carried Max slowly into the house.

Aghast at what had happened, witnessing Friedrich and Edith's own private Calvary, here on the terrace no-one else either moved or spoke.

 **Author's Note:**

M. Vaudable - Octave Vaudable, who bought Maxim's in 1932 and who "started selecting his clients, favouring the regulars, preferably famous or rich". The Vaudable family continued to own Maxim's until 1981 when the restaurant was sold to Pierre Cardin.

Everyone has heard of the Moulin Rouge; the Bal Tabarin was yet another famous Parisian night club, in business between 1904 and 1953.

The _Beguine -_ a Creole folk dance promoted by musicians from the Antilles and made famous by the American-born French entertainer, dancer, and French Resistance agent, Josephine Baker (1906-1975).

When it opened in 1928, the Georges V Hotel did indeed have a separate dining room for children - as well as over 70 "maids' rooms" for servants such as nannies, valets and so forth.

Sweep wells are very much a feature of the Alföld.

While Budapest was badly damaged during WWII, the buildings referred to are still there. The only real casualty was the Royal Palace which, although wrecked in the war, could have been restored but which for political reasons was then gutted by the Communists. There are grandiose plans, as yet unrealised, to restore some of the State Rooms to their original appearance. As for the spa baths, there are many in Budapest which in 1934 was officially given status as a "City of Spas".

The Treaty of Versailles (1919) ended the Great War between the Allied Powers and Germany; other treaties dealt with Germany's former allies - principally the Austro-Hungarian and Ottoman Empires. The Treaty of Trianon (1920) ended the war between the Allies and the Kingdom of Hungary, one of the successor states to the former Austro-Hungarian Empire. The harsh terms of this treaty caused considerable bitterness in Hungary, the state being reduced to but 28% of its pre-war territorial extent.

 _Jungen sind nun mal so_ \- boys will be boys.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

A Mother's Legacy

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

Today, which had dawned fair, in bright sunshine and beneath a clear blue sky, with so much promise, had ended disastrously, under lowering clouds and in darkness; everyone here at Rosenberg, both adults and children alike, dumbstruck by what had happened to young Max.

* * *

While Danny and Rob bathed and changed into fresh clothes, having had his injured knee properly cleaned and dressed with infinite care by his Aunt Sybil, given a hot bath and then a sedative, despite his angry, tearful protests, at his mother's insistence, Max had been put to bed in his pyjamas. On this, Edith herself would brook no opposition. None whatsoever. Max could say what he liked; his injured knee was both bruised and swollen and, as Sybil herself had said, hot to the touch. What Max needed most of all was to rest and then maybe, just maybe, once the cut itself had stopped bleeding, the swelling would begin to subside, the wound would start to heal, and, please God, there would be no further complications. All any of them could do now was to watch and wait.

Later that same afternoon, northwards over the Alps, the sky darkened ominously, heralding the arrival of a sudden summer storm and which, when it duly broke, did so with an unexpected ferocity. The thunder growled menacingly, rumbling across the leaden sky, reverberating in a succession of ever deepening drum rolls echoing around the peaks of the distant mountains, the sky lit up constantly by repeated flashes of both fork and sheet lightning.

A short while later and it began to rain heavily.

* * *

The stormy weather matched Tom's sombre mood and which, in a word, was pensive.

With Sybil attending to Max's injured knee, alone in their bedroom and dressing for dinner - not, of course, that anyone was much in the mood for eating - Tom had plenty of time to do a great deal of thinking. And, the more he thought about it, the more he had become convinced that all was not as it seemed. That something else lay behind what had been proposed; namely Manfred and Eva's pressing invitation to visit them at their country estate in Hungary.

Tom grimaced and mouthed an Irish expletive.

Feckin' hell!

Damn these detachable collars! He never bothered with them at work but for a formal dinner they were _de rigeur_.

The business of threading the tie between the band and the turn down wings of the stiff collar was one thing, but then attaching the collar to the front stud of his shirt was sheer torture. In normal circumstances Sybil would have been on hand to help him but she wasn't and he was all fingers and thumbs!. Frustrated, Tom paused in his endeavours. _Insistence_ was that too strong a word to describe the nature of the invitation? Resuming his tussle with the front stud of his shirt, Tom decided it was not.

There, at last!

Having tied his bow tie - something which, after many years of practice,e he was adept at doing himself - Tom slipped on his waistcoat and donned his dinner jacket. Surveyed his reflection in the mirror. Smiled broadly at what he saw. Yes, it had definitely been worth all of the bother. The end result was just grand!

So far, he had not yet had the opportunity to discuss the matter of the invitation with Matthew who, despite Friedrich's earlier kind words out on the terrace, was presently doing his best to convince a tearful Robert, much as Tom had done a short while ago with an equally upset Danny, that what had happened over at the pond had not been their fault. That what had befallen Max could have happened at any time; that something which for a healthy young boy would have presented no danger whatsoever, could, for a haemophiliac, well prove fatal.

* * *

And it was still raining when, having come down into the lamp lit hall, pausing for a moment by the window at the foot of the main staircase, where the raindrops drummed noisily against the glass, Tom peered out into the sodden darkness. Glimpsed the water pooling midst the gravel, saw the black branches of the linden trees lining the drive being tossed this way and that by the strength of the wind.

* * *

Now, as he awaited the arrival of the others, Tom kept himself amused by studying, and in some detail, the collection of framed photographs which stood grouped together on a marble, gilt side table.

As was only to be expected, there were pictures here aplenty of the Bransons, the Crawleys, and their offspring; as well as several photographs of Friedrich and Edith. the latter included one of them standing arm in arm with the ruins of some temple or other in the background; evidently taken on one of their archaeological expeditions, the caption in Edith's writing bearing the words _Luxor 1927_.

There was another photograph of Edith, on her own, wearing a leather flying helmet, goggles, silk scarf, shirt, breeches, and knee length lace up boots, standing proudly in front of a bi-plane, the picture captioned in Friedrich's hand, " _der Flieger_ ": " _The Aviator_ ". And which, so Edith had told Tom a few days earlier, had been taken immediately after she had completed her first solo flight back in the summer of 1928, a matter of weeks after Amelia Earhart had flown the Atlantic.

There was another, taken only last year, of Friedrich and Edith on their wedding day, standing outside the English Church on the Via Maggio in Florence.

There were pictures too, of young Max: as a baby, as a little boy, and several of him which were more recent, including one of Danny, Rob, and Max playing cricket on the lawn at the Villa San Callisto in Fiesole. There was yet another photograph of Max; one which surprised Tom, showing the boy and his Aunt Mary, she standing behind him with her hands resting lightly on Max's shoulders, and taken, as evidenced by the bandage Mary was wearing, shortly after Max had tripped and fallen down a flight of marble steps at the villa, whereupon Mary, with no thought for herself, had saved his life by breaking Max's fall. Given the animosity which yet existed between Edith and Mary, it was somewhat surprising to find the photograph so prominently displayed. Of course, the pictures of Max depicting a happy, laughing, smiling, young boy belied the reality of his haemophilia, gave no hint that his life hung by the slenderest of threads; that it could be snuffed out in an instant as the events of today had clearly demonstrated.

And along with the pictures of Max there were now several of his baby brother, Kurt.

Yet, of all the photographs on display, that which piqued Tom's interest most was a framed sepia picture of Friedrich. Clearly predating the others and standing slightly apart from them, it had been taken during the Great War, and showed Friedrich, in his pilot's uniform, being decorated by the last Austrian emperor; the one who had died at an early age, in exile, on the far distant island of Madeira, back in 1922. Not of course that Tom had any time for either emperors or indeed kings; it being his considered opinion that gilded idiots like the German kaiser and the Russian tsar had caused the Great War in the first place.

So why was it that this particular photograph had so attracted his attention?

* * *

A short while later, and still none the wiser, as Tom replaced the picture, hearing footsteps above him, he turned, to see Sybil, pale and drawn, descending the main staircase. Having changed the bandage on Max's injured knee for the third time in as many hours, then bathed and made ready for dinner, Sybil was wearing the delicate, shimmering, hand beaded, satin belted, blue green, silk evening gown she had bought especially for this trip and which more than did justice to her curves and still slender figure. Tom permitted himself a brief smile. These days women's fashions were so much simpler than they had been; both to put on ... and to take off.

He recalled the purchase of the gown - and also its price - in infinite detail. An entire afternoon, or so it had seemed, spent in Clery's Department Store, opposite the General Post Office, on O'Connell Street in Dublin. As to the cost, at the time, tongue-in-cheek, Tom had remarked that an equivalent sum would have fully paid off the land annuities owed to the British Government by the Irish Free State.

Unfortunately, his light hearted attempt at levity went sadly awry.

Sybil was not at all amused.

* * *

 **Outside Clery's, O'Connell Street, Dublin, Irish Free State, early summer, 1933.**

"So, don't you want me to look nice for you?" she asked, evidently still annoyed as, with Tom carrying all of her several purchases, they left Clery's to walk the short distance back across the Liffey over to Westland Row station, there to catch the train home to Blackrock on the south side of the city.  
"Of course I do, darlin', for sure".

"Well then, **darling** , that comes at a price".

"Hm!"  
"What's _Hm_ supposed to mean?"

"Nothing".

"Hm", echoed Sybil.

* * *

With four children, any time spent on their own was infinitely precious. So, normally, Tom and Sybil would have made the most of the opportunity afforded them of being alone in a First Class railway compartment. However, Tom's earlier flippant comment regarding the cost of the gown had rankled with Sybil. As a result of which they spent the entire journey back to Blackrock seated facing each other, and with barely a word being spoken between them.

Not of course that either of them ever stayed annoyed with the other for long and, with each having apologised, that night they saw to it that they made up for their earlier missed opportunity.

* * *

 **Idrone Terrace, Blackrock, Dublin, Irish Free State.**

Agreeably naked, sated and beaded with sweat, seeing Tom lying on his back beside her, his hands clasped firmly behind his head, staring intently up at the bedroom ceiling, and wearing an incredibly self satisfied grin, Sybil paused in running her fingers through the soft mat of fine hairs upon his chest; propped herself up on one elbow.

"Penny for them?"

"I'm making a mental note, darlin'".  
"About what?" whispered Sybil, clearly intrigued.  
"That if this is the price I have to pay for questioning the cost of a dress ... to be sure and see that I do it more often!"

And to which, there was no answer.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

When, shortly after their arrival here at Rosenberg, Sybil had explained to her sisters that of the two evening gowns she had brought with her, one had been bought as long ago as 1926, the year of the General Strike, and altered to bring it up to date, and the other, while new, had been purchased in a department store in Dublin, Mary, who used the services of a couturier up in London - Russell on Bruton Street in Mayfair - had been predictably sniffy.

"But darling, it simply isn't done".  
"Yes, it is," said Sybil. "I do it".

And to which also, there was no answer.

* * *

"So, how is young Max?" Tom asked.

Sybil drew level with him; smiled weakly. Then shook her head.

"Edith's done her level best to try and have me believe that this isn't as bad as some episodes but I'm not so sure. The knee is quite swollen, there's some bruising, and Max has a slight temperature. Although the wound is clean enough and not that deep, while I've re-dressed it three times, and on each occasion made the bandages tighter than before, the cut's still bleeding. If only it would stop".

Tom slipped his arm around her waist. Sybil sighed and rested her head against his shoulder.

"It must. It will, for sure".

"I wish I shared you optimism. When last I spoke to Friedrich, he was all for telephoning a specialist in Vienna but so far, Edith won't hear of it. I think she's praying for some kind of miracle".  
Tom shook his head. Despite his Catholic upbringing, given what he had suffered in his childhood, he did not believe in miracles. Save that for the credulous and gullible.

"Is that a fact, for sure? I thought Edith was more level headed than that".

"She **is** but when it's your child ... And, of course, every time this kind of thing happens, she blames herself".

"But why?"

"Tom, darling, from what she told us last year, you know the answer to that, just as well as I do. The way Edith sees it, it was she who gave Max this dreadful disease in the first place; her legacy to her son. At least that's how she looks upon it, the poor darling".

"But that's feckin' ridiculous ... How was it yous described it?"

"A matter of chance. Yes, we both know what I said, Tom. But that still doesn't alter the fact of how Edith herself feels and, after all, she is Max's mother".

"If yous think it might help, then I'll have a word with her, for sure".

Sybil was very well aware that where Edith was concerned, Tom had an extremely soft spot and that the feeling was very much reciprocated. All this apart, Sybil knew too that Tom was equally very proud of what Edith had achieved for herself: someone who, taking full advantage of the freedoms afforded women after the Great War, had grasped the opportunities presented so as to carve out a new life for herself as a free thinking, independent, spirited young woman, far removed from the cloistered, stultifying confines of Downton Abbey.

"Yes, thank you. It might. Although, even coming from you, darling, somehow I doubt that it will make even the slightest difference".

"Well, all the same, I think I'll try, for sure".

Sybil smiled; that was so like Tom. How was it that all those years ago none of her own family, least of all her two sisters, had been able to see the goodness and the intrinsic worth in this man? She gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek before moving away to sink down wearily on the bottom step of the staircase where she rested her chin in her hands. A moment later, Tom had joined her.

"So, is Edith still with Max?"

Sybil shook her head.

"No, but I had the devil's own job of persuading her to leave his bedside. Thank heavens for little Kurt! The baby needs her too. Fortunately, Edith had the good sense to see the truth of what I was saying. Both she and Friedrich are now changing for dinner; not that they're much in the mood for it. I don't suppose any of us are. Edith said they would go and see Max again, before they come down. And, thank heavens too, for Nanny Bridges! She's taken charge of the rest of the children - despite Saiorse insisting that she doesn't need a nanny!"

Tom laughed.

"Grand!"

"By the way, I looked in on little Kurt and our Dermot before I came down. They're both fine".

"But then, who's looking after Max?"  
"At the moment, Mary. She's taking turns with Eva".

Tom could not hide his astonishment.

" **Mary**? But I thought she wasn't feeling very well herself?"

Sybil nodded.  
"Yes ... but ... and you mustn't say a word, about this, Tom. Mary says it's nothing to worry about. Just a minor indisposition. She thinks it must have been something she ate, but I've been sworn to secrecy on that particular matter. After all, at this precise moment, Edith has more than enough on her plate without hearing that Mary believes she had the cook try and poison her!"

Tom lofted a brow.

"Yous surely don't mean that ..."

"No, of course not! That was just Mary's little joke".

"A joke? That doesn't sound like the Mary I know!"

Sybil permitted herself the briefest of smiles. "Agreed. Why on earth, after all this time, the two of them ..." She shook her head in disbelief.

Tom nodded.

"I know, darlin', I know".

"Well, I suppose ..."

"So, just a slight indisposition then? Nothing more than that?"  
"No, nothing more". Echoing his words, She stared into space.

After all these years, Tom could read her like a book.

"So, what is it yous not telling me?"

* * *

Having begun to feel a little better - perhaps it had something to do with all this talk of horses and riding - Mary found herself wrestling silently with a seemingly insurmountable problem. If, as seemed likely, after all it would be churlish to refuse, they accepted Manfred and Eva's offer of hospitality at their estate in Hungary, then what on earth was she to do for riding clothes?

With his relentless drive for saving money - so awfully middle class - in part, Mary blamed Matthew for the tiresome dilemma she now faced. Had he not insisted that she dispense with the services of a lady's maid on this trip, then Mary could have left the resolution of this particular difficulty in the hands of Carew, the most recent and certainly the most capable, in a long line of ladies' maids. These days none of them ever seemed to stay the course and, to be truthful, it was Mary's considered opinion that things had never been quite the same after Anna had married Bates. That, in her view, was when the rot set in.

No sooner was the exceedingly tiresome, wearying business of training a new maid accomplished - it really quite wore one out - than the wretched girl upped sticks, and took a position elsewhere. Either that or else she left domestic service altogether, as Harris had done, in her case to train as a teacher, simply because, she said, it offered her better prospects! What on earth, wondered Mary, had happened to the notion of loyalty?

While they were here at Rosenberg, Edith had put _Sophie_ at Mary's disposal. The girl was willing enough but it really wasn't the same as having one's own maid to attend to one's needs. No doubt there were places in Vienna where riding clothes could be procured but that would mean asking Edith. That apart, there was every chance that she might then offer Mary the loan of a pair of those ghastly breeches she was so fond of wearing when she was away on one of her "digs" in Egypt. Or had it been Mesopotamia?

There was such a thing as propriety although that seemed to be something Edith had long forsaken.

No doubt, having taken up flying, she would have seen nothing at all wrong in participating in the craze of what was called "wing-walking". Why, even Matthew and Tom had said it sounded "fun". Sybil told Mary not to worry; that "the boys" were only joking. And, anyway, Tom had a fear of heights. Knowing those two, Mary wasn't so sure. As a result of which she had experienced a reoccurring nightmare: watching open-mouthed as Edith gleefully piloted an aeroplane across the skies above Downton during the annual Statute Fair - with Matthew and Tom strapped to its wings, trailing in its wake a banner bearing in huge letters the words: _The_ _Branson and Crawley Flying Circus_.

Then, with the sudden appearance here on the terrace of the boys everything was changed.

* * *

From where she was now resting, reclining on a _chaise longue_ over by the bedroom window, Mary looked up. The weather outside matched her dismal mood. Although the nausea seemed to have passed, there yet remained the vexing question of those riding clothes, but most importantly of all, this awful business of darling Max.

Mary herself was not especially maternal - earlier today, following Max's accident, it had been Matthew who had done his best to console Robert. Just what it was about this young boy - Edith's son - that had so captured her heart, Mary couldn't begin to fathom. After all their first meeting, just over a year ago, in the _salle d'attente_ , in Calais, where they had all been waiting to board the Rome Express, had hardly been a success. Indeed exactly the reverse; Mary quizzing Edith quite mercilessly as to exactly who was Max's father, lecturing her on having a child born out of wedlock, and disbelieving what Edith then told them about the effects of Max's haemophilia. Yes, Mary's recollection of that particular encounter made her blush with shame; the more so when, following an exchange in German between mother and son, it had fallen to Edith to translate what it was Max had just said.

" _He was asking me if I was all right; when the train was leaving"._

 _"And what did he have to say about me?" asked Mary coldly._

 _"He asked me ..." Edith faltered, glanced at her young son, and was instantly warmed by Max's smile which now gave her the strength to answer Mary's question._

 _"And?"_

 _"He asked me ... why you were so angry ... so nasty"._

* * *

Thankfully, a light tap at the door now served to jolt Mary out of an increasingly disquieting _reverie_.

"Come in!"

Sybil's head appeared around the door.

On seeing who it was, Mary could not conceal her disappointment.

"Oh, it's you ... I'd half expected Matthew might come ..."

"I'm sorry, darling".

"There was something I wanted to ask him ... No, no, it doesn't matter. It'll keep". Mary waved her hand dismissively.

"When last I saw him, he was still talking to Danny and Robert".

"I see".  
Sybil realised that some explanation was called for.

"Mary, Danny and Robert ... they're terribly upset about Max. Even though Friedrich's told them they were not to blame for what happened, that it wasn't their fault, they still think it was. And what makes it so much worse is that they're both so very fond of darling Max".

"We all are. How is he?"

"According to Edith, it's not as bad as some of these bleeds. In itself, the cut is clean, is superficial but it's still bleeding and his knee is quite swollen".

Mary winced. Like her late father, she was not at all good at discussing medical matters.

"And on that score, I've something to ask of you".

"Which is what?" asked Mary cautiously.  
"Well, I know it's not quite your thing ..."

"Darling, you know me so well!"  
"The truth is, Mary ..."  
"Yes?"  
"Look, to be perfectly frank ..."  
"I wish you would be".

"Well, then. Edith's all in. I know just how fond you are of darling Max. Would you ... would you mind sitting with him? Take turns in doing so ... with Eva?"

Mary's eyes glittered. That decided it. Where Max was concerned, she had no intention of being upstaged by the baroness, If Eva could do it, then so could she.

"Nothing else?"  
"No. I've just changed his dressing and Max has been given a sedative to help him rest".

Mary winced again.

"I see".

"So, will you?"

Her own troubles presently forgotten, Mary gave her sister a radiant smile.

"Yes, of course".

"Then thank you. But before you do, there's something else I need to ask you".

"And that is?"

 **Author's Note:**

While Amelia Earhart's first trans-Atlantic flight took place in June 1928, her first **solo** Atlantic flight was in May 1932.

Founded in May 1853, taken over and renamed Clery's in 1883, this famous Dublin department store closed its doors in 2015.

Land annuities: the suspension, in 1932, by the Irish government of paying monies owed to the British government in respect of financial loans granted to Irish tenant farmers in the late nineteenth century led to the imposition of unilateral trade sanctions by Great Britain and Ireland, causing severe damage to the Irish economy.

Russell on Bruton Street - Peter Russell (1886-1966) was a London-based English fashion designer running a major couture house from the 1930s into the early 1950s.

Westland Row - renamed Pearse station in 1966 - after Patrick and Willie Pearse - two of the republicans executed in the aftermath of the Easter Rising in 1916.

The 1920s saw the heyday of wing-walking. For Tom's alleged vertigo, see _The Rome Express_.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Of Lamplight And Moonlight

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

Outside, it was turning into a very rough night indeed and, while Rosenberg was more than able to stand whatever the heavens might throw at it, the rain came down in torrents.

"Nothing really. Only I was wondering ..."

A sudden burst of drops caused Sybil to glance across at the window where the rain splattered noisily against the glass with all the rapidity and remorseless repetition of a burst of machine gun fire.

"About what?" asked Mary.

However, before Sybil could begin to answer her, from seemingly directly overhead, a terrific clap of thunder rent the air. A moment later and another tremendous flash of sheet lightning lit up the darkness so that for one brief moment it seemed it was midday, instead of just after eight o'clock on a wild, wet, stormy night. Beside Mary the electric table lamp flickered, then dimmed, plunging the bedroom into semi-darkness.

"Well, really! This is quite intolerable!" Mary shook her head in exasperation, recalling that, years ago, Granny had commented on the singular disagreeableness and inconvenience of foreign travel. This arising out of a visit which the late Dowager Countess and her husband had made to Russia in the summer of 1883 - having travelled there to attend the coronation of Tsar Alexander III.

Violet had observed tartly that anyone rash enough to travel abroad did so at their own peril. Quite apart from that, there were the people:

 _all of whom were foreigners, most of whom spoke no English whatsoever or even if they did, spoke it so badly as to render what they said quite incomprehensible; the servants were poorly trained, either obsequious to the point of servility or else rude and surly, the food often inedible, the accommodation habitually deplorable, and, neither the electricity nor the plumbing ever worked properly and quite often it was both._

Mary could almost hear her grandmother's voice:

 _"There, I told you so!"_

Mary recalled there had been a similar problem with the electricity in Florence last year. At the time, Tom had said it was something to do with Il Duce but Mr Mussolini had made the trains run on time, so why on earth should there have been a problem with the supply of electricity? It didn't make any sense. Now the same problem had arisen here in Austria. Presumably this had nothing to do with Mr Mussolini. Or had it?

"It must be the storm," observed Sybil.

The lamp on the table flickered again.

"Either that or Edith even begrudges me the cost of using her electricity and would prefer it if I sat here alone, indisposed, and in the dark!"

"Oh, Mary, really!"

"It's all right, darling. I'm only joking".

A moment later, and the lamp resumed its erstwhile steady brilliance; now shone as brightly as it had done before.

"There, what did I tell you?"

"You were saying ..."  
"Was I?"  
"Yes. You were wondering ..."  
"Oh, yes. Well, when you came in from the terrace earlier ... you said ... that you weren't feeling well".

"Oh, that!"  
"Yes, that".

"Well as you can see, I'm perfectly fine, darling. It's very sweet of you to ask but I'm as fit as a fiddle!"

"Really?"  
"Yes, really. It's nothing to worry about. Just a minor indisposition. Doubtless something which I've eaten. Perhaps Edith's given instructions to her cook to poison me!" Mary laughed but to Sybil the laughter rang hollow.  
"Oh, Mary, please! Don't joke about such things! I do so wish ..." Sybil sat down heavily on the chair next to the _chaise longue._

"What?"  
"That you two would try and rub along better. After last year, with what happened at the villa, what I mean is, you saving Max's life, I dared to hope that you two had been able to bury your differences".

"Well, as you so quaintly put it we do _rub along_. Anyway, even if at times, we don't, being so sweet, you can always be relied upon to pour oil on troubled waters".

"It's not the same, Mary. You shouldn't be at loggerheads like this. Not now. **Especially not now.** With young Max so ill".

"Yes, well ... When did you want me to go and sit with him?"  
"Now, if you, don't mind ..."

"Of course".

Mary rose swiftly to her feet but, as she did so, quite unexpectedly the feeling of nausea returned. With her stomach heaving in earnest, blindly, she stumbled her way across the floor and into the bathroom where she sagged, fell to her knees, and was promptly sick in the lavatory.

* * *

For a few moments, Mary was aware of nothing save the misery of her own body. Then she felt an arm placed comfortingly around her shoulders, a hand helping her to her feet. Glanced up and saw that it was Sybil. Mary let herself be led to the bed where, having laid down, she closed her eyes. Was dimly aware of Sybil moving about the room; felt a damp cloth wiping her face. When next she opened her eyes, she saw that Sybil had pulled the chair from its customary place next to the _chaise longue_ and set it beside the bed.

* * *

Seated in the chair, Sybil handed Mary a glass of water.

"Here, drink this".  
"Thank you".

Sybil folded her arms; assumed her no-nonsense expression, the one she reserved especially for truculent patients at the Rotunda Hospital in Dublin as well as at home in Blackrock, as and when the situation demanded it, both for Tom and the children.

"So, tell me, truthfully, just how long has this been going on?"

"I'm not exactly sure". Mary set down the glass.

"Don't be such an utter goose!"

"A few weeks".  
"A few weeks?"  
"Yes, that's what I said. A few weeks".

"Have you told Matthew?"  
"Told Matthew?"

Sybil raised her head; glanced slowly around the bedroom.

"Is there an echo in here?"

"Told Matthew what?"

"That you're expecting another child?"

"There's no need to be quite so graphic, Sybil. No, I haven't. At least, not yet".

"Why ever not?"  
"I didn't want to ... not after that business of the comtesse de Roquebrune".

"That's hardly fair to Matthew, is it? And, correct me if I'm wrong, but weren't your suspicions on that score entirely unfounded?"

"Maybe".

"No _maybe_ about it. They were, weren't they?"

"Yes", said Mary weakly.

Sybil's manner abruptly softened.

"Well, then, darling, you're having another child. Let me be the first to congratulate you".

"But I can't be!"

"Well, you are".

"But how ..."

"Mary Crawley, having had three children, if you need me to tell you how babies are ..."

"Sybil, don't be crude!"

"So, just when do you propose telling Matthew your good news?"

"Good news?"

"There's that damned echo again!"

At that, even Mary had to smile.  
"Actually, I was going to tell him tonight. I know he'll be delighted. But now, this business of Max ..."

"Yes, well ..."

"Promise me ... you won't say anything at all about this, to Tom".  
"All right, I won't. But only so long as you promise faithfully that you'll tell Matthew tonight".

Mary nodded her head.

"I promise". Mary sat up; began re-arranging the pillows behind her back. "Tell me, darling, are you like this with all of your patients?"  
"Like what?"  
"So direct?"

"Of course!"  
"Even with Tom?"  
"Especially with Tom!" laughed Sybil.

* * *

Having taken the opportunity afforded him to avail himself of some of the books which his cousin possessed concerning several of the aristocratic families of Hungary, coming out of Friedrich's library, for the moment lost to sight amid the lengthening shadows beneath the main staircase, Manfred had paused. Long enough certainly to have witnessed Tom's interest in the photograph of the last emperor. Now, seeing Tom and Sybil talking, seated together on the bottom step of the staircase, Manfred smiled. Contriving a dry cough so as to make his presence known, he moved forward into the warm glow cast by the massive, ornate lantern suspended from the ceiling and from the large glass wind lights mounted on the balustrade of the landing. Turning their heads, on seeing who it was, Tom and Sybil rose to their feet.

"How is young Max?"

"His knee's still bleeding and he's in quite a bit of pain, which comes in waves. But he's been given a strong sedative so that should give him some relief. At least for now".

"I see. Well, I suppose all one do is to watch and wait".

Sybil nodded.

"Yes, that's all any of us can do. More's the pity".

Smiling, Manfred caught hold of Sybil's right hand; raised it to his lips.

"My dear, you look absolutely enchanting". Then, having shaken hands with Tom, Manfred nodded in the direction of the Drawing Room; enquired as to the whereabouts of his wife.

"Is Eva ..."

"No, not yet. Some last minute problem," explained Sybil with a broad smile.

"Ah! Whenever is there not? Sometimes I think she contrives it this way. She does so love to make an entrance!" Manfred laughed; now walked across the hall to stand in front of the side table with its collection of photographs. Reaching forward he picked up the picture showing Friedrich receiving the Military Merit Cross with crossed swords from His Imperial and Royal Apostolic Majesty, the Emperor Karl. For a moment, Manfred studied the photograph in silence before, with an almost imperceptible nod of his head, then replacing it carefully back in its place on the marble top of the table.

"Such a needless and terrible waste".

Tom nodded.

"Agreed. Nearly forty million, or so I have heard tell".

Manfred likewise nodded.

"Indeed, but I was not speaking of the war, Herr Branson".

" _Tom_ , please. Of what then?" Tom sounded genuinely mystified.  
"I was speaking of his late majesty, the emperor".

"Ah, for sure. But at least he was more fortunate than the tsar and his family".

"Perhaps," said Manfred equitably. "But, _Tom_ , there are many here in Austria, and also in the Kingdom of Hungary, who would not agree with you; who would say that he was unjustly deprived of St. Stephen's Crown ..."

Hearing footsteps on the landing, Manfred paused in what he was saying; raised his head to see his wife descending the staircase.

* * *

Grasping hold of the brass door knob, Mary opened the door and, lithe as a cat, slipped silently into the bedroom beyond. Having closed the door behind her, she found that the only light was that which came from the shaded lamp standing beside Max's bed, so it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness within.

Sitting beside the bed, Eva glanced up and, on seeing who it was, she rose swiftly to her feet.

"How is he?" asked Mary from where she was standing by the door.

Placing a forefinger to her lips, Eva moved towards her across the thick pile of the carpet.

"I think he's drifted off to sleep. Thank God!"

Crossing herself, Eva glanced up at the ceiling. Breathed an audible, heartfelt sigh of relief, before lowering her eyes, turning her head away, seemingly to look back over her right shoulder at Max's prostrate form but, in reality, in order that this haughty, aristocratic English woman should not see her tears. Unexpectedly, she now felt the other take gentle hold of her wrist, in silent recognition of her obvious distress.

"It's all right. Truly, it is," implored Mary.

Eva turned back to her; their eyes met.

"Thank you for that," she said softly.

"Not at all. Think nothing of it".

Mary smiled; moved across the room and seated herself in the same chair in which Eva had been sitting. Nodded as the baroness smiled, before Eva turned and let herself out of the hushed and darkened room.

* * *

"You were saying, about St. Stephen's Crown ..." began Tom.

"No matter," said Manfred amiably. "My dear, you look an absolute picture!"

Eva dimpled; basking in the glow of her husband's compliment.

* * *

"Because I know he will!" stormed Edith.

Here in the privacy of their bedroom, exasperated, Friedrich ran his hands through his hair. Shook his head. This was madness. Utter folly. Born out of sheer desperation.

"Please, Liebling, for God's sake, face facts!"  
"Which one? We have so many!"  
"We must send for Dr. Reitlinger! Have him make the necessary arrangements for ..."

"No! The bleeding will stop!"

"You can't possibly know that".

"It will. Trust me. Please, Friedrich, don't insist on putting Max through the pain of another transfusion! Just let him sleep. At least for now".

Friedrich threw up his hands in resignation. He knew when he was beaten.

"All right! I still have my misgivings, but if you are certain that is what you want".

"Thank you, my darling. It is". Edith gave Friedrich a radiant smile. "We'll both look in on him on our way down to dinner".

* * *

There was a soft knock at the door and a moment later Matthew came into Max's bedroom.

"How is he?" he asked softly.

"Sleeping," said Mary, placing a cautionary forefinger to her lips.

"And you?" Matthew's voice sank almost to a whisper.

"Oh, it's nothing, really".

"Well, either it is or it isn't". Matthew smiled.

"I'll tell you what the matter is but only if you promise not to say a word to the others; I don't think now would be the right time". Mary nodded towards Max.

Silence reigned.

Then lengthened.

"And?"

Mary turned her head; looked directly up at Matthew.

"Darling, the truth of it is that I'm ..."

* * *

Beside Max's bed Edith felt Mary's hand brush against her own. For one brief moment their fingers interlaced.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Don't mention it darling. Anyone would have done the same".

"I know but all the same ..."

Edith smiled; then surprised the two of them by leaning down and kissing her sister lightly on the cheek before re-joining Friedrich by the door to go down to dinner.

* * *

"Ah, there you all are!" This from Matthew, who, trim in his evening attire and wearing an expression like the cat who had swallowed the cream, came down the stairs at a jaunty pace.

"Is Mary feeling any better?" asked Tom.

"Thank you, yes! I've just seen her. She's sitting with young Max - while Nanny Bridges gives the others their supper".

"And how is she?" asked Sybil.  
"Oh, I think you know the problem; just a minor indisposition. Nothing more". Matthew winked at Sybil. "All the same, Edith's had the cook prepare a light meal for her".

"So she won't be joining us?"

"No. But, hopefully, she'll come down later, for coffee".

"And where are Friedrich and Edith?"

Tom glanced up at the landing.

"There they are, just behind you".

Matthew half turned to see Friedrich and Edith, arm in arm, now descending the main staircase.

* * *

"Edith, darling, you look lovely for sure!"

"Do I? I certainly don't feel it".

Nonetheless, she still smiled.

"Shall we go in?" enquired Friedrich.

Now, as they made their way into dinner, despite Manfred having said that what had been under discussion between the two of them had been of no consequence, Tom found himself thinking that it had been.

Decidedly so.

* * *

While the sedative had helped to dull the pain in his knee, it had also made Max very drowsy.

Even so, no.

He must be dreaming.

For, seated beside his bed, he thought he saw his elegant Aunt Mary ... eating a meal from off a plain wooden tray.

"Aunt Mary?"

On hearing Max's voice, instantly setting down the tray, Mary reached forward; enfolded Max's hands in her own.

"Yes, darling".

"So it **is** you".

"Yes, it's me".

"What ... what are you doing here?"  
"Well, I wasn't feeling very well either, so I thought I'd just sit here quietly and keep you company".

"Thank you," Max said, doing his very best not to yawn.

"Don't mention it," laughed his aunt softly with a sense of shock at the same time taking in the boy's pallor, the sheen of sweat beading his forehead, and the dark patches under his eyes.

"Where ... where are Danny and Rob?" asked Max, his voice now growing fainter.

"They're having supper with Nanny. I expect they'll come in and see you before they go to bed".

But Max didn't hear her.

Had already drifted off, seemingly to sleep.

Alarmed, Mary reached for the bell.

* * *

Dinner proved to be a decidedly mournful affair.

No-one was much in the mood either for eating or for conversation and even Tom's attempt at trying to lighten the mood, asking if they were to expect trout for the fish course, fell decidedly flat. Outside, the rain continued to drive against the walls of the house, the blackness of the sky lit up by repeated flashes of lightning, while the thunder reverberated around the distant mountains.

* * *

"Sleep's the best thing for him, Your Ladyship".

"Yes, I suppose it is. Well, if there's nothing more I can do here, I think I'll go down and join the others".

Nanny Bridges nodded.

"Very good, Your Ladyship. And please tell Lady Edith not to worry. I'll call her immediately if there's any change".

* * *

Not long after they had all adjourned to the Drawing Room for coffee, now joined by Mary, the rain finally ceased, the lightning flashes became fewer, the thunder stopped growling, and, a short while later, the storm died away. A short while later, despite Mary having told Edith that Nanny Bridges had said she would let her know at once if there was any change, nonetheless, Edith had insisted on going upstairs to look in on Max.

* * *

Shrouded heavily in sleep, upstairs, hushed and still, Rosenberg slumbered; save that was for two barefoot, pyjama clad forms which flitted silent as ghosts along the carpeted corridor.

* * *

Danny and Rob approached the bed; stood looking down at Max's silent, recumbent form.

"Is he ..." whispered Rob.  
"I don't even want to think about that," said Danny hoarsely.

"I think we should leave. If we're caught in here ..."

* * *

In the Drawing Room, Sybil laid her hand comfortingly on Friedrich's wrist.

He shook his head.

"It's unbelievable. In all the time I've known her, I've never seen Edith like this. She's always been so rational. Now from out of nowhere comes this unshakeable belief of hers that, somehow, all will be well".

Sybil steeled herself for the question she knew she had to ask.

"So ... when Max wakes? What then?"

"He has a temperature of 38.9 and now, given the amount of blood he has lost ... without a transfusion ..."

Friedrich shook his head.

"There's always hope ..."

"My dear, I know you mean well, but, no. I've told Edith that what is needed is something that no-one here can provide. What we need ... is a miracle".

* * *

It had been just the same last year in Italy.

All this rich foreign food!

Plain, simple, English cooking was what was needed.

But, with Master Max fast asleep, there was no need to disturb Lady Edith.

Nanny Bridges bustled off down the corridor in search of the water closet.

* * *

Here, upstairs, alone in the privacy of her Writing Room, Edith sat thinking over what Friedrich had said earlier; knew that he was right. That short of a miracle ... This room was Edith's inner sanctum which lay just along the corridor from Max's bedroom. If by some chance, Mary had set foot across its threshold, she would have found, doubtless to her surprise, that her long held belief that Downton mattered little to Edith, to be completely mistaken. It was rather simply the fact that, circumstances being what they were, with Mary being the eldest of the three and therefore, irrespective of whomsoever she married, in line to inherit Downton, both her sisters, had, perforce, to make their lives elsewhere: first Sybil over in Ireland, and, eventually Edith herself here in Lower Austria.

And, there was something else too which was that, unlike Mary, for both Edith and Sybil, people, rather than places, had always mattered more; a feeling which Edith herself had voiced aloud but a couple of months ago, when, shortly after Kurt had been born, she had said to Friedrich that nothing really mattered to her except him and their two boys, and which, in the years to come, would indeed prove to be the case.

Nonetheless, confirmation that Downton still did mean a great deal to Edith could be found in this comfortably furnished room with its view out over the park towards the peaks of the distant Alps. Here, Edith had her desk - in size it matched her late father's in the Library at Downton - her gramophone, a pair of globes one celestial the other terrestrial which had so fascinated Max when he was a little boy, and Edith's day bed.

Two of the walls were lined from floor to ceiling with bookcases, the contents of which reflected her eclectic interests; there were archaeological reports, not only in English, but also in French and German, as well as novels in the same three languages, and which included several by Agatha Christie who, along with her husband Max Mallowan, were friends of both Friedrich and Edith. There were also magazines and periodicals, including copies of _The Lady_ and _The Delineator,_ and of _Popular Aviation_ to which Edith herself had contributed a short article for the edition which came out in April 1931, concerning the future of women in flying; copies of which she had sent to her father and to Tom, both of whom, despite Robert's diehard conservative views on the place of women in society, had been suitably impressed. And, unsurprisingly, given his interest in all things to do with flying, down the years, young Max awaited the arrival here at Rosenberg of the latest edition of this particular magazine with undisguised impatience.

On Edith's desk there stood several treasured photographs of Friedrich and Max, and now too of Kurt. And hanging from the walls were pictures and paintings, mainly of places here in Austria and in the Near East, but, in pride of place was a large oil painting entitled _Downton Abbey By Moonlight_ painted by the English Victorian artist John Atkinson Grimshaw. True to its title, the picture depicted the Italianate building of the abbey by night, bathed in the ethereal, silvery glow of moonlight, which gave it a haunting, almost mystical, other-worldly appearance.

And, it was here, in this very room that, when he was scarce four years old, Max had first heard tell of Downton Abbey, while sitting on his mother's lap, beside the tiled stove, one cold, snowy day, back in the winter of 1926.

* * *

Of course, she had played the piano ever since she was a little girl, but it was only in the years since she had met Friedrich that Edith had become passionately interested in music with, these days, a preference for the rich harmonies and orchestration of the works of Richard Wagner; in the '20s had, along with Friedrich, attended several performances at the Bayreuther Festspielhaus in Bavaria, including one of the complete cycle of _Der Ring des Nibelungen._ Had visited too the spectacular, romantic castle of Neuschwanstein built in honour of Wagner by his patron, _der Märchenkönig_ , the Fairy Tale king, Ludwig II.

Balm for the soul.

Standing in front of the gramophone, she lowered the stylus on to the recording on the turntable, then settled down on the day bed beside the porcelain tiled stove, turned off the lamp and stared into space. If there truly was a God, then surely He ...

* * *

Beside her in the darkness the recording crackled. Then, faintly at first, the music began to play; the Overture to _Tannhäuser_ by Wagner. Here in the darkened room, bone weary, resting on the day bed, spent and utterly exhausted, Edith let the soaring music fill the room; transport her where it would.

* * *

"If you will excuse me, I really think I should go and speak to Edith again; see if she will see reason".

"Would you like me to ..." began Sybil.

"No, but thank you. This is something which I have to do on my own".

A moment later, everyone's eyes were on Friedrich as he left the room.

* * *

Now, as the stirring overture drew inexorably towards its thunderous close, midst the rousing crescendo, somewhere, lost in the darkness behind her, Edith thought she heard a slight movement and then a single word.

"Mama?"

Edith's eyes filled with tears; no, her ears must be deceiving her.

But nonetheless, instinctively, still, she turned her head.

There in the doorway, clearly exhausted but nonetheless standing, supported by Danny and Rob ... stood Max.

 **Author's Note:**

For the Dowager Countess's trip to Russia, see Chapter Two of my story _Reunion_.

The Rotunda Hospital - the maternity hospital in Dublin where, in my stories, Sybil is now a matron.

 _that business of the comtesse de Roquebrune_ \- see _The Rome Express_ and _Renoir's Ghost._

The Crown of St. Stephen or the Holy Crown of Hungary - the coronation crown used by the Kingdom of Hungary. Since 2000, along with the sceptre, orb and coronation sword, the Crown of St. Stephen has been on public display in the central Domed Hall of the Hungarian Parliament Building.

Since the Great War there had been considerable advances in the undertaking of blood transfusions but in the 1930s they were still lengthy and risky procedures.

For Friedrich and Edith's friendship with Agatha Christie and her second husband Max Mallowan, see Chapter Three of my story _Summer of '39._

Ludwig II (1845-86) King of Bavaria 1864-86 was Wagner's patron and commissioned the building of several splendid palaces, including Neuschwanstein, spending all of his royal revenues to pay for them, an extravagance which his ministers seized on to have him declared insane. Today, Ludwig's architectural legacy includes many of Bavaria's most important tourist attractions.

The English artist John Atkinson Grimshaw (1836-1893) did indeed specialise in paintings of scenes lit by moonlight, a technique in which he was unsurpassed. These days "Grimmy's" pictures sell for hundreds of thousands of pounds. But, if ever he did paint a view of Downton Abbey, it must be presumed as lost!

While _The Lady_ , a British magazine for women, has been in print ever since 1885, _The Delineator,_ again written for women, was an American publication which lasted from 1885 until 1937. First published in 1927, _Popular Aviation_ is also an American magazine and still in print today but under the title _Flying._


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

A Whisper On The Wind

 **Drawing Room, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

But a matter of minutes after Friedrich had left them, the cry came from upstairs.

Understandably alarmed, those here in the Drawing Room looked nervously from one to the other.

"What on earth?" exclaimed Mary.

A moment later all six of them had bolted for the stairs.

* * *

 **Edith's Writing Room,** **Rosenberg.**

Following Max's accident out at the pond, when afterwards the cut on his knee had continued to bleed, it had been Friedrich who had said to Sybil that what they needed was a miracle. And now, with what had happened, it seemed to those here at Rosenberg that this was what had occurred.

However, as Edith herself would readily attest, this was often the way of it with haemophilia. There was no rhyme nor reason to the capriciousness of the disease; who it chose to strike and who it did not. Apparently, from what she herself had read the previous year, in an edition of the _Neue Freie Presse_ , in an article concerning the recently exiled Spanish Royal Family, of King Alfonso XIII's four sons, both the eldest and the youngest had been born haemophiliacs while the other two boys, all of whom were now young men, did not suffer from the disease.

Rather closer to home, despite all possible care being taken to prevent Max injuring himself, with him being an otherwise healthy, rumbustious young boy, blessed, or cursed, depending on one's point of view, with a lively and enquiring mind, accidents still happened. A moment's inattention on his part, leading not to something as potentially lethal as a fall, but instead to a sudden knock or a blow, in Max's case, usually either to one of his knees or elbows. And, while this might result in no harm and all would be well, on other occasions, this would be the start of it. The invisible, slow seepage of blood into the damaged joint, causing Max the most excruciating and terrible pain; leaving the joint swollen and hot to the touch; the affected limb often grotesquely bent and contorted.

Eventually, when the blood had nowhere else to go, the pressure caused the bleeding to cease; then a clot to form. And the infinitely slow process of reabsorption began; something which could take days, while the straightening of a limb, the freeing of a joint, and then regaining the use of the same, might take even longer. Yet, sometimes, there was no discernible cause; an episode of bleeding began simply of its own accord. Yet what then followed, was only all too predictable.

Of course, nosebleeds were something else entirely. And, quite understandably, Edith was always very worried if ever Max caught a cold as a severe bout of sneezing might well burst the delicate blood vessels inside the nose. If that happened ...

Yet, just over a year ago, in the Gare Maritime in Calais, shortly after the whole family had met Max for the very first time, and Mary and Sybil had learned of his condition, when Edith had tried to explain the danger a nosebleed posed for a haemophiliac, to begin with Mary had been disbelieving.

* * *

 **Gare Maritime, Calais, France, August 1932.**

"A nosebleed," repeated Mary woodenly. "You left Downton, without even saying goodbye, and went all the way back to Vienna, just because your son had a ruddy nosebleed!"

"Only ..."

"Only what?" persisted Mary.

"Only none of your children will ever die of a nosebleed".

"Die ... of a nosebleed?" asked Mary scornfully. "No-one ever dies of a nosebleed".

She looked at Sybil seeking some kind of reassurance. Found there none. Saw instead that Sybil was regarding their young nephew thoughtfully. And in that look Mary saw something else too which she did not expect; heartfelt pity.

"That's just where you're wrong, Mary," Edith said softly. "My son could".

* * *

 **Edith's Writing Room,** **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

Yet, minor abrasions and cuts to Max's skin usually presented no problem; once cleaned, then bandaged tightly, the bleeding eventually stopped.

As seemed now to have happened.

Even so, on hearing Max's voice, turning her head and seeing him standing there in the darkness, framed in the doorway of her Writing Room, supported by Danny and Rob, Edith had to admit that for one brief instant she had thought that both her ears and her eyes were deceiving her. It was only when Max repeated her name that with a distinct sense of shock, Edith had realised that both Max and his two cousins were not figments of her imagination; were real enough. Unlike the mirage she had witnessed out in the desert in Iraq some years ago when Friedrich and she had been excavating near Ur.

* * *

When his mother did not move from where she was seated, stretched out on the day bed, Max tried again.

"Mama?" he repeated haltingly. Now, on hearing her son's voice for the second time, with a cry that was indeed heard throughout the entire house, Edith leapt up and a moment later was on her knees in front of Max. Saw that he was still deathly pale, clearly exhausted, standing before her on his good left leg, his injured one bent at the knee and with his right foot held clear of the floor, supported by both Danny and Rob.

"Max! Darling, what on earth are you doing out of bed? And you two, what are you ..."

"We wanted to say goodnight to Max, Aunt Edith," began Danny.

"We knocked at the door but there was no answer ..."

"No answer?"  
"So we went in".

"Mama! Look! Look at my knee; it's stopped bleeding!"

Edith's eyes flicked now to her son's injured knee. With the leg of Max's pyjamas rolled up, she could see that what he said was true enough. And, although the knee was still bruised and swollen, it was undeniably the case that the cut itself had stopped bleeding. Even so, the wound was still raw and wet and it would be a day or so at least, if not a while longer, before a scab could be expected to begin to form.

"What on earth's happened to the bandage?"  
"It came off, Mama".

"Came off?" echoed Edith. She herself had watched Sybil dress Max's knee several times tonight and then reapply the bandage. She was not at all convinced that without assistance ... from a willing pair - or pairs - of hands ... the bandage could ever have worked loose of its own accord.

Max must have sensed that his mother did not quite believe him.

"It did itch so, Mama!"

"Did it? Well, it's back to bed for you this instant, young man. And since the both of you helped Max here from along the corridor, am I to assume that you will help him back to his bedroom?" Edith looked first at Danny, and then at Rob; both of whom nodded their assent.

"Well then. Do so. And, carefully, mind". The two boys nodded again. "Then I'll have Aunt Sybil come upstairs and re-bandage your knee".

"It really did itch, Mama".

"I'm sure it did".

"I feel a lot better now". Max gave her a brief, but dazzling smile.

"Do you?"

"Yes, Mama. Only ..."

"Only what?"  
"I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused".

Edith shook her head.

"Let's have no more of that. You're the one who has _the trouble._ Now, let me see ..."

Gently, Edith felt Max''s knee; it was still hot and very swollen. She stood up; placed the back of her hand on Max's forehead, which, despite his waxen pallor was no longer beaded with sweat. Thankfully she found his skin cool to the touch; it seemed his temperature was more or less normal. Well, Sybil could take that again when she re-bandaged his knee.

It was at this point in the proceedings that, like a galleon under full sail, Nanny Bridges hove into view behind the three boys.

"Goodness gracious me! Master Max! Master Daniel, Master Robert! What are you all doing out of bed?"

But before any of the boys could answer her, clearly both embarrassed and flustered by what had occurred, Nanny was apologising profusely to Edith while at the same time Danny and Rob tried again to explain what had happened, this time to Nanny. Not that she was paying either of them the slightest attention.

"I'm sorry, Lady Edith, really I am. I only left Master Max for a matter of minutes". Nanny nodded in the direction from whence she had just come.

As everything now fell into place, Edith nodded.

"I see. Well, no matter. And, as I said a moment ago, it's back to bed for you, young man ..." Edith stopped what she was saying: the corridor outside her Writing Room was full of people, both adults and children, and she found herself addressing a sea of anxious faces.

* * *

 **Max's bedroom, Rosenberg** **.**

Standing beside Max's bed, on hearing the door open, Sybil looked up. Saw it was Edith, who smiled then nodded. A moment later, Sybil had moved to the foot of the bed where she stood looking down at Max now, at last, sleeping peacefully.

"Well, darling, what you were praying for has happened. His temperature is now normal and the bleeding has definitely stopped. I've given him another sedative and he's fast asleep," she whispered.

"And no doubt dreaming of driving a racing car!"

"You know about that, do you?"  
"The trip to Bremgarten, next year? Yes. Matthew mentioned it to Friedrich a short while ago, who then told me. And while Friedrich's hinted at something to Max, to try and keep his spirits up, he doesn't yet know all the details".

"Nor, for that matter, does Mary! Poor Matthew!" Sybil grimaced.

"Yes, when Mary finds out, I expect it will be! In which case, my lips are duly sealed. Don't worry, darling, I shan't breathe a word! Although ..." Edith became pensive.

"Although what?"

"I've a private notion that Mary knows already. Or at least suspects something is up".

"Oh? Why's that?"

"Well, earlier today she asked me if the name _Bremgarten_ meant anything".

"I see. What did you say?"

"I told her it was in Switzerland. Not far from Geneva. And that there was a racing circuit there. I asked her why she wanted to know and she spun me some yarn about having heard it mentioned in passing by one of Matthew's friends; by whom I suppose she meant Tom!"

"Oh dear! Not that I suppose it really matters. After all, not much that happens at Downton ever escapes her notice. At least not for long. Do you remember me telling you last year ... about that business of the motorbike in Thirsk? The one Matthew was planning to buy?"

"Now you come to mention it, yes I do!"

"Well, by then you had left Downton, but what I didn't tell you was that despite Mary pretending it to be otherwise, she knew exactly what Matthew and Tom were up to and then worked it to her advantage".

"You mean ..."  
Sybil nodded.

"Do you remember what we used to call her when we were little?"

Edith grinned.

 _"Managing Mary! S_ ome things never change, do they?"

Sybil smiled.

"No, they don't. And more's the pity. Oh, by the way, just to make certain that the bandage on Max's knee doesn't work loose, this time I've tied a double knot".

Edith gave her sister a rueful smile.

"Thank you but I'm sure that without a little help from _you-know-who_ ..." She nodded in the direction of Max.

Sybil smiled.

"Perhaps but all the same it's very odd that the bleeding stopped just like that".  
"Sometimes that's what happens and, thankfully, it seems this hasn't been as bad as some episodes".

"All the same, Max's knee is still very swollen and tender to the touch. So, he'll need to rest. And, to be sure and tell him, definitely no more night time excursions along the corridor. At least for now!"

Edith laughed softly.

"No, of course not. And, yes, I will".

* * *

 **Rosenberg, later that same night.**

Over Rosenberg later that night the sky was shot with stars.

Save for the faintest rumbles of thunder somewhere northwards over the Alps, the storm had quite died away. Here, outside on the terrace, in the cool of the damp, pine scented air, Friedrich set down his glass of Schnapps on the balustrade. A short while since, having learned discretely from Matthew what it was that he had wanted to discuss earlier, an excursion next year to the motor racing circuit at Bremgarten, taking along Danny and Rob, and, if he was well enough, Max also, it was Manfred's turn to explain himself, which he now did, at the same time repeating his offer of hospitality at Rózsafa.

In the present circumstances, understandably, Friedrich demurred.

"Thank you but no. Not now. How could we? After all, it will be at least a week, perhaps longer even, before Max is able to leave his bed. If then. And, anyway, at the end of this month, I was intending to go back out to the Near East to supervise an excavation at Jericho".

Manfred nodded.

"Could that not wait?"  
"A week or so of delay would not matter greatly, no. So, yes, it could. But give me one good reason, other than the health of my son, as to why it should".

"I can think of several".

"Really?"

"Indeed".

"Why the pressing need for all of us to visit Rózsafa?"

Manfred was equivocation itself.

"There's no pressing need. None at all. Merely an offer of hospitality; extended by Eva and myself both to you and Edith and, naturally, of course, to your English and Irish guests".

"Naturally ..." echoed Friedrich. "So naturally, that I'd overlooked it. Just what is it that you're not telling me, Manfred?"

"Nothing, I assure you".

"Then let me put it another way. What is it that you can tell me at Rózsafa but not here?"

"Let **me** put it another way. There are some people I would like you to meet".

"People? Who exactly?"

"That would be telling. But those who share similar views".

"Similar views? Regarding what exactly?"

"The collapse of the empire, the iniquities of the Trianon treaty, and so forth".

"Indeed. Such as whom?"

"Well, keep this to yourself, but Count István Bethlen de Bethlen for one".

"The former Prime Minister. Yes, a man I admire, certainly. Why, my dear Manfred, you do move in exalted circles".

Manfred smiled thinly.

"And who is, I think, already known to your English brother-in-law, the earl of Grantham. From his work for the League".

"Possibly".

"Rather more than that, I think. And there are those too who would seek ..."

But the conversation between the two men came to an abrupt end when Edith called to them from the Drawing Room to come in and re-join the others to toast young Max's health.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, the following day.**

The following day, after luncheon, having yet again renewed their invitation both to the Bransons and to the Crawleys to come and visit them at their estate at Rózsafa in Hungary close to the Roumanian border, Manfred and Eva made their farewells to one and all, including young Max. Shortly afterwards, they left Rosenberg to drive into Vienna; there to catch the Orient Express, eastbound to Budapest where they would stay a few days at their villa on Andrássy út. The Maybach Zeppelin would be left behind at the Westbahnhof in Vienna. There to be collected and driven all the way back to the villa in Budapest by their chauffeur from where Manfred and Eva would be driven home to Rózsafa.

* * *

And then in a roar of exhaust, trailing a cloud of dust, they were gone.

"Well, said Friedrich, placing his arm around Edith's shoulders, as the Maybach disappeared off down the drive.

"Well, indeed!"

Friedrich smiled.

"Meaning?"

"There are things to tell me, aren't there?" asked Edith looking her husband squarely in the eye; it being more of a statement than a question.

"Yes," Friedrich said. "But, not now".

And with that, at least for the present, Edith had to be content.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, that evening.**

"Would you like me to read you a story?" she asked softly.

At the time, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to suggest; to offer to read Max a story. Something to try and help him take his mind off the pain from his injured knee. That and the fact that, for the time being at least, he could not join in playing with his cousins. And yet, despite this being so, when she came to think about it, Mary realised that never once had she sat and read to either of her own two boys. That _duty,_ as she had always seen it to be, had fallen to Nanny.

* * *

Max nodded his head.

"Yes, please, Aunt Mary," he whispered.

"Well then, what shall it be?" she asked breezily, trying to assume a bonhomie which she did not feel.

Scarcely were the words out of Mary's mouth than an aberrant thought now struck her. The offer to read to him had been made in good faith but what if the books here in Max's bedroom were all in German as she supposed they might well be. Rapidly, Mary's eyes scanned the spines of the collection of books. Then breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that, for the most part they were in English. Titles and authors she recognised. Copies of several of which were to be found in the bookcase in the Day Nursery at Downton: "The Wind in the Willows", by Kenneth Grahame; "Swallows and Amazons". by Arthur C Ransome; "Sir Nigel" and "The White Company", by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle; and "The Thirty Nine Steps" and "Greenmantle", by John Buchan to name but a few.

Slowly, Max raised his left hand and pointed to a book with a blue spine but before Mary could move to fetch it, there came a light tap at the door.

"Come in".

The door opened, to reveal Danny and Rob in their pyjamas.

"Oh, er, Mama, it's you!" exclaimed Rob, clearly flustered at finding his mother sitting here in Max's bedroom.

"How very observant of you, Robert. Yes, it's me. It's perfectly all right. Contrary to whatever your father and your Uncle Tom may have told you, I don't bite!"  
For some reason, Max found this incredibly funny, promptly dissolving into a fit of giggles. His laughter was infectious. The corners of Mary's mouth twitched and a moment later she too was smiling.

"And what do the two of you want?"

"We wanted to say goodnight to Max, Aunt Mary".

"Are you going to read him a story, Mama?" asked Robert.  
"That seems to be the general idea".

"May we stay, Mama?"  
"Well ..."

"Thanks, Aunt Mary, for sure!"

Not that she had said that they could do so but, seeing the three expectant faces lit in boyish epiphany, Mary hadn't the heart to refuse them.

"Very well. Now, Max, which was the one you wanted me to read?"

"The blue one".

"Would you fetch it for me please, Robert".  
Rob did as his mother had instructed.

"This one?"

Max nodded.

Rob duly took the book from its place on the shelf and handed to his mother. Then, following Danny's lead, seated himself on the bed, while Max rested his head against his aunt's shoulder. Mary glanced at the title of the book Max had chosen. Well, at least that made sense: _The Three Musketeers_ by Alexander Dumas.

* * *

 _"... Doubtless! Are you not aware that we are never seen one without the others, and that we are called among the Musketeers and the Guards, at court and in the city, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, or the Three Inseparables?"_

Something caused Mary to look up, to find Tom, his eyes upon her, standing in the doorway to Max's bedroom.

"Well," he said softly, "I thought Edith was Scherezade for sure, but I see now that perhaps I was mistaken!"

"Less of the Irish blarney if you please, Mr. Branson!"

But, all the same, Mary laughed.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, the following week.**

While he could still not bend his injured knee, Max was on the road to recovery and Matthew had finally let the cat out of the bag as to the fact that Mary was expecting another child. With congratulations ringing in his ears, Matthew found himself slapped heartily on the back by his Irish brother-in-law.

"So, it looks like there's life in the old dog yet, for sure!"

"Apparently so. But, if you don't mind, as you said to me a couple of weeks ago, less of the _old_!"

"And is Mary ..."  
"Pleased about the new arrival? I think _resigned_ to it, rather than pleased. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm late as it is!" Matthew nodded in the direction of the garden where, down on the lawn, he had agreed to umpire a game of cricket between the children. "Are you coming?"

"Yes, when I've found my tin hat!"

* * *

" **Out**!" Robert threw up his arms in glee.

From the other end of the improvised cricket pitch, Saiorse glared at Robert.

"No, I'm not!"

"Yes, you are! In case you didn't realise, Danny ran you out. **O...U...T** spells **out**!" yelled Robert.

Saiorse tightened her grip on the cricket bat, stood her ground, and remained exactly where she was.

"No, I'm not!" she repeated through gritted teeth. If Robert had been closer, she would have clobbered him.

"Yes, you are! Father, tell her!"

Matthew smiled. All things considered, any of the weighty matters under deliberation by the League in Geneva such as the on-going dispute between China and the Empire of Japan over the Mukden Incident were as child's play compared to umpiring a cricket match where Robert and Saiorse were captaining opposing sides. As Tom had said many times before, on occasions, Saiorse was just like her mother; intractable and stubborn.

"Well, don't look at me, old chap, for sure," drawled Tom when Matthew chanced a glance in his direction. "You're the diplomat!"

"Oh, thanks!" laughed Matthew.

* * *

From where she was sitting reading to Max, Mary glanced over the balustrade of the terrace; shook her head. Despite her aristocratic birth, she had never understood cricket, nor indeed, the English upper class obsession with it.

"Now, where were we, darling?"

* * *

Danny and Robert appeared on the terrace.

"Aunt Mary, do you mind if we come and sit with you and Max, for sure?"  
"No, not at all. But I thought you two were playing cricket with the others?"

"Yes, we were ... We are. But it's much safer up here. At least for the time being".

"Why safer?"

"Saiorse's batting again!"

Moments later, from somewhere close at hand, came the sound of breaking glass.

* * *

 **Royal Palace, Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933.**

Here in the magnificent, opulent rooms of the Krisztinaváros wing of the Királyi-palota, Budapest's Royal Palace, formerly inhabited by the Hapsburgs, His Serene Highness, Miklós Horthy, Regent of the Kingdom of Hungary, in a thoughtful mood, stood gazing towards the magnificent domed Parliament Building on the opposite bank of the River Danube.

The information which had come into his possession, quite recently, said to be from a well informed source in Berlin, had, all the same, been sketchy. And yet, this time, Horthy had the distinct feeling that somewhere, something was stirring.

Little more than a whisper on the wind, blowing across the wheat fields of the Alföld, the Great Hungarian Plain.

Horthy had always been dismissive of attempts to unseat him from the office which he had held ever since March 1920 when the National Assembly of Hungary had asked him to assume the title of Regent, following the bloody suppression of the Red Terror; in Horthy's view the end had fully justified the means. So as he himself saw things, he had parliamentary sanction for the tenure of the post he now held.

That, at the time, officers of the Hungarian National Army had been in occupation of the Parliament Building did not, in his view, invalidate the request made to him to become Regent. After all the victorious Allies would never have accepted the restoration of the former emperor, Karl, now dead and buried in distant Madeira for these past eleven years, as King of Hungary.

Which was how Hungary had become what it was now: a kingdom without a king.

The Regent shook his shoulders; sniffed derisively.

"Opportunists and adventurers, one and all! Will they never learn?"

 **Author's Note:**

Founded in 1864, the _Neue Freie Presse_ was a Viennese newspaper closed down by the Nazis in 1939.

King Alfonso XIII of Spain and his family had gone into exile in April 1931 following the success of the republicans in the Spanish municipal elections. Of the king's four sons, the two who were born suffering from haemophilia would both die in motor car accidents in the 1930s; Infante Gonzalez in Austria in 1934 and Infante Alfonso in Florida in 1938. In each case their injuries were superficial but their haemophilia caused fatal internal bleeding.

There is still no cure for haemophilia although these days it can be managed; most of the advances in its treatment having come to pass after the Second World War. The threat posed to Max by a nosebleed is based on fact. In 1916, when the Tsarevitch Alexei, the son of the last tsar, was twelve years old, he almost died from a nosebleed brought on by a bout of sneezing caused by a heavy cold.

For Tom and Matthew's secret plan to buy a motorbike, see Chapter 5 of my story _Reunion_.

Count István Bethlen de Bethlen (1874-1946); Hungarian aristocrat and statesman who served as Prime Minister of Hungary from 1921-31.

 _From his work for the League -_ the League of Nations, the predecessor of the United Nations.

 _I thought it was Edith who was Scherezade_ \- see _The Rome Express._

 _Tin hat -_ a steel helmet worn by soldiers for protection against shrapnel.

The Mukden Incident of September 1931 was used by Japan as an excuse to invade and then occupy the area of north eastern China known as Manchuria where the Japanese set up a puppet state called Manchukuo. The failure of the League of Nations to deal with what was clearly aggression by the Japanese spelt the beginning of the end of the League.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Dracula

 **Royal Palace, Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933.**

"Conspiring to overthrow a Head of State is ... " The Regent paused. "The English, I believe, have an apt phrase for it. Ah, yes! _N_ _ever quite the thing_ ".

"Sometimes it is".  
"Forgive me, but from my perspective you will appreciate that there I must disagree with you".

The other permitted himself a wry smile and for the moment neither spoke.

"Your Highness, I did not think our meeting would be quite so ... public". The man nodded pointedly in the direction of the small knot of Court officials gathered at a respectful distance at the far end of the long, ornate room; just out of earshot but yet near enough to be called upon should the need so arise.

"I have grown to distrust secret meetings. Now, in that which concerns us, your advice is to wait. To do nothing. Until they have shown their hand?"

"Indeed".

* * *

 _ **O'Connell Bridge, Dublin, Ireland, June 1919.**_

 _After their meal, laughing and joking, they crossed over the Liffey by way of the O'Connell Bridge - he remarking with a wink that the bridge had also once been named for the same Lord Lieutenant of Ireland who had given his name to the pier at Kingstown. They had just crossed the bridge and reached the southern end of Sackville Street, when he stopped abruptly and set down their two cases on the pavement._

 _Ahead of them, dominated by the towering Nelson Pillar, stretched Sackville Street, one of the city's most bustling thoroughfares, lined with expensive shops, public buildings, the luxurious Metropole Hotel and the General Post Office which adjoined it. But the scene which greeted them on this June morning in 1919 was one of utter devastation. As far as their eyes could see, on either side of Sackville Street, stretched the burnt out, blackened ruins of all manner of buildings. Mute testimony to the savagery of the fighting which had taken place here but three years before during the Easter Rising in 1916, between those seeking to establish a free and independent Ireland and the British Army fighting with an equal determination to keep Ireland as part of the British Empire and as one of the possessions of the British Crown. As part of this violent confrontation, having come up against unexpectedly dogged and determined resistance, and to flush out their opponents holed up in the General Post Office, the British Army had resorted to the use of heavy artillery, here in the very heart of Dublin._

 _The result had been all too predictable, and the casualty rate, on both sides, appalling._

 _"Jaysus, will yous look at this. Sybil, will yous just look! Look what those bastards have done! I knew it had been bad over here, but to see it ... like this ..."_

 _Overcome with emotion, and having given vent, for him, to an uncharacteristic outburst of profanity at what now confronted them, he sat down abruptly on a shattered piece of masonry, his head in his hands, and wept._

* * *

Then, somewhere, a bell began to toll dolefully. It was joined a moment later by one of its compatriots. Then by another of their fellows. By another. And then yet another. Until the very air was rent by a jangling, discordant, dissonance of sound.

* * *

 _ **The Four Courts, Inns Quay, Dublin, Irish Free State, 28th June 1922.**_

 _"Tommy, I do want yous to know that I have no choice in this"._

 _"Michael, there's always a choice. Surely ... it doesn't have to come to this. Hasn't there been enough killing already?"_

* * *

 _He saw Collins nod curtly to the officer in charge of the huge 18-pounder gun. In turn, having ordered that a slight adjustment be made in the elevation of the long, polished steel barrel pointing directly at the buildings across the Liffey, the young officer likewise nodded, this time to the group of six gunners kneeling beside the massive artillery piece. He raised his right arm quickly and then brought it down just as swiftly._

 _"Fire!"_

 _There came a deafening, ear-splitting roar, followed by a piercing scream; the massive gun shook and recoiled violently as the first high explosive shell soared away over the grey waters of the Liffey. A minute or so later it hit the elegant, imposing granite fa_ ç _ade of the mass of buildings opposite sending up a billowing cloud of fragments of shattered masonry, choking dust, black smoke, and a sheet of orange flame._

 _The assault on the Four Courts had commenced, the battle of Dublin had begun, and with it the Irish Civil War._

* * *

Whether the bells came from Christchurch or St. Patrick's, he knew not. Was it a tocsin being rung in alarm? Or was it, rather, sounding the death knell of a city? The sound quickened. Became ever more insistent; a clanging cacophony of inharmonious noise.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

Tom murmured softly in his sleep; stirred uneasily in his slumbers.

Then, the lingering shreds of the dream still noisome in his consciousness, with a sudden start he awoke to find the bright early morning sunlight peeping in between the heavy curtains; at the same time heard the sound of the bells of the _Michaelerkirche_ ringing out across the meadows below Rosenberg. Rolling over onto his side, he found Sybil already awake, her dark hair tousled - these days she wore it longer than had been the case in the '20s - sitting up in bed in her white cambric nightgown, resting comfortably against a mound of pillows, obviously lost in thought. Was reminded of something he had said to her on their Wedding Day, quoting the words of this favourite English novelist Thomas Hardy who had died but a few years ago:

 _In this life one thing is certain. I shall love you, long for you, and keep wanting you till I die_

So, for the present, Tom said nothing. Merely contemplated the woman sitting beside him and, it must be said, savoured the view.

Earlier this year, at home in Idrone Terrace, shortly after the birth of young Dermot, having returned from work rather earlier than was usual in order to prepare a piece on the vote in the Dáil to remove the Oath of Allegiance to the British Crown, Tom had found Sybil in their bedroom, sitting in front of the mirror of her dressing table, studying intently the reflection that gazed back at her. Convinced, as she told him at the time, that after fourteen years of marriage and now having given birth to four children, that her eyes had lost their sparkle, her hair crackled much less when she brushed it, her lips were less plump than they once were, and that by contrast, her figure was so much fuller.

When she had ended voicing these heartfelt concerns, now seated in Tom's lap, realising he had to tread carefully in this, he had proceeded to tell Sybil that she was imagining things. In his opinion her figure had withstood the passage of the years and four successive pregnancies remarkably well. In that regard, while her breasts were undoubtedly full, they were high. Her legs were as shapely as ever. And her backside as amply proportioned as it had always been. To emphasise the truth of what he had just said, Tom patted her rump - and none too gently. Continuing in the same vein, Tom said that as far as he was concerned Sybil looked the same as she had done on their Wedding Day. Then by way of a riposte added that even if at some time in the distant future she assumed, even exceeded, the generous girth of the late Mrs. Patmore, which she had not, for him she would have lost none of her allure. At that Sybil had grinned, as he knew she would, and said she would hold Tom to what he had just said. That she would put in an order forthwith with the local butchers in Blackrock for a weekly supply of raised crust meat pies, for her own personal consumption.

And so the awkwardness of the moment had passed.

* * *

Tom now ventured a kiss; covered Sybil's mouth with his own but the response he received was highly unsatisfactory. Indeed, hardly held her attention, let alone her interest.

"What is it?" he asked. "Have I done something to ..."

Sybil turned; regarded him thoughtfully.

"No, darling. It's not you. It's me".

"Penny for them, darlin', for sure".

Sybil laughed; a merry, tinkling sound.

"They're not worth even that, I can assure you!"

"Then let me be the judge".

"Well, I was just thinking about what Edith said to me the other day. Why the bleeding stopped the way it did. What she said doesn't make any sense. At least not from a medical point of view".

"So, what did she say?"  
But when Sybil answered, she did so obliquely with a question of her own.

"What do you know about psychology?"  
"Not much. Isn't it something to do with the mind?"

"Put simply, yes".

"What about yous? What do yous know about it?"  
"For a matron in a maternity hospital, as it happens, surprisingly little".

"So what did Edith say?"

"Amongst other things, that she's convinced that the presence here at Rosenberg of both Danny and Rob played its part in helping the bleeding to stop".

Tom shook his head.

"I don't understand".

"Something about it exercising a calming effect on Max. Along with Edith herself being convinced that the bleeding would stop of its own accord. That helped too. Apparently there's a doctor in Vienna who believes the emotional state of a person plays its part in the healing process".

"I don't see how, for sure".

"Neither do I. Mind over matter?"

"Perhaps. We're not back to believing in miracles, are we?"

Sybil shook her head.

"No, of course not. But all the same, there's no explaining why ..."

But just then there came a timid knock at the door.

"Who is it?"  
"It's me, Ma!"

The door swung open to reveal young Bobby in his pyjamas, standing in the corridor, and looking decidedly forlorn. Obviously, something was wrong. It was Tom who first noticed the damp patch on the front of Bobby's pyjama trousers and the little boy's next words confirmed what had happened.

"Ma, I wet the bed," whimpered Bobby, clearly uncomfortable and hopping from from one foot to the other.

"In that case, young man, we'd better find you some fresh pyjamas," said Sybil calmly, before clambering out of bed.

* * *

A short while later Sybil returned, along with Bobby now washed, dry, and wearing a fresh pair of pyjamas.

Tom shot her an enquiring look.

Sybil nodded her head.

"Yes, he had," she said simply by way of explanation. "So I've stripped and remade the bed and had a quiet word with Nanny Bridges. All right, in with you!"

A moment later, smiling happily, Bobby had climbed onto the bed and snuggled down between his parents.

Over Bobby's head, Tom and Sybil exchanged mute glances.

"So what caused the ... er ... for sure?"

"Apparently something to do with a story Danny told them yesterday".

" **Danny**? About what?"

"About the vampire, Da," whispered Bobby snuggling further down and pulling the bedclothes up to his chin while his blue eyes, so like those of his father, grew very large.

Tom thought he must have misheard.

"The what?" he whispered.

"The vampire, Da!"

Tom covered his face in his hands.

"Oh no!"

"What is it?" asked Sybil, clearly alarmed.

Tom turned to look at her.

"Darlin', I rather t'ink this is all my fault, for sure".

"Then perhaps you'd better explain".

* * *

 **Rosenberg, the previous day.**

Shortly after breakfast, to their astonishment, the children had learned from Nanny that in all likelihood they would be going to stay with Uncle Manfred and Aunt Eva on their estate in Hungary. Exactly when depended, apparently, on just how soon Master Max was able to travel. But, said Nanny, it would have to be within the next couple of weeks; that much was certain. The Bransons and the Crawleys were all booked on the Orient Express, departing from Vienna on the very last day of the month.

Having gone in search of their parents and been told that what Nanny had said was true enough, later that same morning found Danny, Rob, Max, and Saiorse, along with their fathers, in the library being shown where Hungary was in one of Uncle Friedrich's large leather-bound atlases, before looking up the country in a volume of the _Encyclopedia Britannica_ wherein amongst other things, reference was made to the region known as Transylvania and its grim folklore. At the mention of the word _Transylvania_ Danny's ears had pricked up. Remembered the book he had borrowed, surreptitiously, from Da's study at home in Blackrock, and then read under the bedclothes at night by the light of his electric torch.

* * *

 _"Within, stood a tall old man, clean shaven save for a long white_ _moustache, and clad in black from head to foot, without a single speck_ _of colour about him anywhere. He held in his hand an antique silver_ _lamp, in which the flame burned without chimney or globe of any kind,_ _throwing long quivering shadows as it flickered in the draught of the_ _open door._

 _"Count Dracula?"_

 _"I am Dracula; and I bid you welcome, Mr. Harker, to my house. Come in; the night air is chill, and you must need to eat and rest"._

* * *

Out of bed and walking again, albeit with the aid of a pair of crutches or else with help from Danny and Rob, Max found himself confined to the house and terrace by his anxious parents. This afternoon, while he was having his injured knee re-bandaged by Aunt Sybil, the older children had spent the time wandering in and out of Rosenberg's many outbuildings, ending up sitting on a pile of threadbare sacks in one of the barns. Very close in fact to where a few days earlier Saiorse's spectacularly hit cricket ball had smashed a pane in one of the glasshouses.

At the time, Saiorse had been utterly mortified but when Da told Aunt Edith what had happened, she had said not to worry. It had been an accident; the pane could easily be replaced.

* * *

"Shut up Danny, yous frightening me!" cried Bobby.

"Yes, stop it, Danny! You're upsetting poor Oscar!" exclaimed Simon, covering the little bear's ears with his hands.

Robert laughed.

"How can _poor_ Oscar be upset? Your precious teddy bear's nothing more than a stuffed toy!"

"Well, he's still upset! And so am I!" Simon glared angrily at his brother.

Danny shrugged his shoulders dismissively.

"Well, yous all asked me! That's what the story's about, for sure. A vampire. A creature that comes out at night and sucks other people's blood! And he lives just over the border from Hungary, in Roumania". Danny contrived a low, menacing chuckle.

"Does he _really_ exist?" asked Saiorse, looking directly at Robert. She had not forgotten what had happened during the cricket match and it seemed that here was a new and novel way of disposing of Master Robert Crawley. Messy but permanent. The only thing was, if as Danny had told them a vampire's victim itself became a vampire, and lived for ever, perhaps it wasn't such a good idea. Robert being around for all eternity would never do.

"Apparently," said Danny with a broad wink to Rob. He lowered his voice so that Simon and Bobby should not hear what he said next."But Da told me it's just a story. Made up, for sure. Like the _Banshee_ and the _Cailleach_ back in Ireland".

"Oh! What a pity!" Saiorse could barely conceal her disappointment.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, that evening.**

Here in the Drawing Room what might be considered a Council of War had been convened to decide, once and for, all whether or not they should take up Manfred and Eva's invitation to stay at Rózsafa.

"Well, we've been there before. Last autumn, in fact. But Max hasn't recovered from his fall which means, however upset he may be, he has to stay here at Rosenberg. And so, therefore, must I. Along with Kurt". Edith turned to look at Friedrich sitting beside her on the sofa. Saw him nod his head, fully in agreement with what she had just said.

"That's more or less what I told Manfred, the night before they left. That travelling to Rózsafa depended on whether or not Max was well enough to go. As he isn't, that settles it. We can't possibly accept".

"But please, don't let that stop the rest of you!," laughed Edith.

"Darling, we can't just abandon you!" Sybil glanced across the room to where Tom and Matthew were standing over beside the large tiled stove; saw him shake his head.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, you'd be doing no such thing! You must go! Manfred and Eva will be so disappointed if you don't! And Rózsafa is very beautiful".

Now Sybil shook her head.

"No. Beautiful or not, it's too far. Especially for the younger children. And for what, after all would be but a short visit. Besides, unless you've forgotten, darling, we're returning home in a couple of weeks' time. So, no, we can't accept either".

"No, I hadn't forgotten. But does that really matter? After all, you'd be returning here to Rosenberg before you leave".

Matthew nodded.

"Yes, we would. That is if we went in the first place. But, I have to agree with what's been said. It's out of the question. So, speaking on behalf of the Crawleys, I think we must also decline".

"Which leaves just Mary ..."

"She wouldn't miss it for the world!" Matthew laughed.

"What wouldn't I miss?" asked Mary breezing into the room from upstairs where she had been reading Danny, Rob, and Max the latest chapter of _The Three_ _Musketeers_ in what, during the last week or so, had become a nightly ritual.

It fell to Matthew to explain what had been going on.

"We're still trying to decide what to do about Manfred and Eva's invitation. I know the children are agog at the prospect. Tom and I spent the morning in the library with them finding out about Hungary. However, with things as they are now, it might have been better if Nanny hadn't spilt the beans ..."

"Yes. although you can hardly blame her".

"I'm not".

"Any way, with Max still recovering, you expecting a child, the distance involved, let alone the fact that we're all returning home in a couple of weeks' time, it seems to be the view that we must decline".

"I see".

"Coffee, darling?" asked Edith.

Mary smiled; sank down wearily into the nearest chair.

"Oh, yes, please! Do you know, I never realised what thirsty work reading aloud is!"

"And how are Athos, Porthos, and Aramis?" asked Tom with a chuckle.

"Doing very well, thank you," replied Mary. "Although to be honest, I rather think that some of the story is not at all appropriate for boys of the age of Daniel, Robert and Max. Not that they seem to mind in the slightest!"

"Just you wait until Max asks you to read them _The Lost World_!" laughed Edith.

Mary grimaced. Then, while she sat and sipped her coffee, for her benefit the others rehearsed the reasons for not making the trip to Rózsafa.

"So, what do you think?" Matthew asked now seated beside his wife and when Mary at last had finished her coffee.

"Well, darling, while your concern for me is very touching, the baby isn't due for months ... It does seem to be rather a shame if none of us go".

"That wouldn't have anything to do with there being horses at Rózsafa?" asked Tom with a laugh.

"Perhaps," said Mary equitably. "But didn't you say, Friedrich, that Manfred very much wanted Matthew and Tom to meet with some important people?"

Friedrich nodded.

"Yes, he did. Although he was rather vague about his motives, let alone their identities".

"Well then, what if ..."

* * *

 **Royal Palace, Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933.**

"Nonetheless," said the Regent softly, after several further moments of quiet reflection, "in matters of this sort, I think that we cannot afford to dissemble". He smiled thinly; looked down his nose at the man now seated opposite him wearing the black uniform of an officer in the Nazi Schutzstaffel; the SS.

"Agreed. And, if Your Serene Highness permits me to do so, may I, in conclusion, offer you a few words of advice?"

Horthy nodded.

"You may".

" _Noblesse_ does not always oblige. Don't let the fact that Crawley employs a good tailor and chooses to assume a diffident air of urbanity fool you. While he may look like a middle class soap salesman, he's not. Far from it".

"You think so?"  
"I know so".

The other grimaced and rubbed his left shoulder. Following that unfortunate incident on the Ponte Vecchio in Florence last year, despite surgery in Berlin, he had never quite regained the full use of his left arm. However smart its appearance, the cut of his military tunic was tight; the material chafing the scar left by the bullet fired from Crawley's pistol.

"If that's a warning, then thank you".

"It is".

"What about your fellow countryman, Branson úr?"

The officer curled his lip. Then shook his head.

"Watch out for Branson".

"Another warning?" Again the Regent smiled.

"While it pains me to say it, Branson is not a _thick_ _Mick_ ".

" _Thick Mick_?"

"The usual Irishman".

The Regent nodded.

"Nor, I think, are you," he said drily.

"Far from it. As for being a fellow countryman, no, I don't think so. After all, I left Ireland for Germany on board the SS. _Seydlitz_ in October 1924 and haven't been back".

"Really?"

"As to what happens to those Hungarians foolish enough to have become involved in this absurd escapade, their fate rests with Your Highness. But while clemency is undoubtedly a virtue, in certain circumstances it might, by some, be seen as a display of weakness. Such men are traitors ... if you follow my meaning?"

"I do. Those who imagine they can threaten my government with impunity will find to their cost that they were sorely mistaken".

"Very gratifying. Now, as to Crawley and Branson, my superiors are of the firm opinion that a ... diplomatic incident would be most ... unfortunate. Both for Germany ... and for Hungary. That being so, a way must be found which does not cause us any embarrassment. Nothing that implicates either Berlin or Budapest in the resolution of this present ... difficulty".

"What do you have in mind?"

The other smiled.

"All in good time. It is regrettable, is it not, that neither of them shoots? Otherwise, a tragic hunting accident could have served our purposes very well. Their bodies found in the woods the following day by a pair of passing peasants. That kind may be induced to say anything. And the more stupid the witnesses, the less likely the British are to ask questions".

"And Schönborn?"

"Has been a thorn in the side of the present authorities in Vienna for some time. If, as now seems likely he will not be present when the trap is sprung, whatever then befalls him, they will make no difficulties. We will see to that. They, I assure you, will be equally glad to be rid of him".

Had it not been for the fact that Horthy was prepared to do anything to save what remained of the Kingdom of Hungary from being plunged back into the chaos of the Red Terror which had so nearly overwhelmed it in 1919 he would have had no dealings whatsoever with the regime of whom the man seated opposite him was a representative. Yet, in Horthy's view the growing threat posed by the Communist regime in Russia could not be discounted. Hungary's present situation was perilous. It was at this point that, unbidden, another English phrase came to mind:

 _Necessity makes for strange bedfellows_

That did not mean he had to like what was being proposed but if the other sensed his disquiet, not to say disgust, he let it pass without comment.

The Regent nodded.

"I see".

"I am very glad that Your Highness appreciates the _realities_ of the situation".

"Do I have a choice?"  
"As it happens, no. And one thing more. Whatever befalls the others, Branson is to be left to me".

"Agreed".

The Nazi officer gave a thin smile.

"We go back a long way".

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

With his foot already on the running board of the maroon Steyr VII Tourer, Tom turned back to Sybil. Heedless of the myriad of watching eyes and of propriety - when had either of them ever bothered about that - he closed the short distance between them, took her in his arms, and kissed her passionately.

"Please, please take care of yourself," begged Sybil.

"For sure! Yous know me!" he said with a decidedly impish grin.

"Yes. That's what worries me!"

"Don't worry! This time next week, we'll be back here, safe and sound, for sure".

"Tom, old chap, if we're to catch the express ..." called Matthew from the motor.

"All right, I'm coming, for sure!"

A moment later Tom had clambered in.

The door closed behind him.

While the Steyr turned slowly on the the gravel of the forecourt, those staying behind at Rosenberg gathered together in front of the house, waving their farewells. Then, watched by one and all, but especially by Max, Danny and Robert set off at a run, keeping pace with the motor until, finally having gathered speed, the Steyr disappeared away from them down the drive.

 **Author's Note:**

Michael Collins (1890-1922). A leading figure in the struggle for Irish independence. Following the 1921 ceasefire between Britain and the nascent Irish Free State, Collins became Chairman of the Provisional Government in Dublin and then Commander-in-Chief of the new Irish National Army. Shortly after the beginning of the Irish Civil War, his military convoy was ambushed and Collins shot dead by republicans opposed to the Anglo-Irish Treaty. In my stories, Michael Collins and Tom are friends.

The cathedrals of Christchurch and St. Patrick's in Dublin are both famed for their peals of bells.

Thomas Hardy had died in 1928. The quotation is taken from _Far From The Madding Crowd_.

 _the vote in the Dáil to remove the Oath of Allegiance to the British Crown._ One of the provisions of the Anglo-Irish Treaty of 1921 required that, before taking their seats in the Irish Dáil, its members publicly declared their allegiance to the British Crown. This caused much anger and resentment and was one of the principal issues which had led to the Irish Civil War of 1922-23.

Bram Stoker (1847-1912) the author of _Dracula,_ was Irish. Given this, and the fact he was born in Clontarf, where in my stories Tom grows up, it seemed reasonable that Tom would have had a copy of the novel in his study.

The _Banshee_ and the _Cailleach_ are figures from Irish folklore.

 _That_ _unfortunate incident on the Ponte Vecchio in Florence_ , see Chapter 56 of _The Rome Express._

That the Regent of Hungary was very concerned by the increasing threat posed to the independence of Hungary by Soviet Russia is perfectly true and was what, in reality would, during the 1930s, lead Horthy to pursue an increasingly close alignment with Nazi Germany.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Eagle's Nest

 **Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933.**

Not intending to return to their villa on Andrássy út before the autumn, with the house all shut up for what remained of the summer, Manfred and Eva had suggested that when Matthew, Mary, and Tom arrived in Budapest, before travelling on the following afternoon by train as far as Gyula, the closest station to Rózsafa, where they were to be met by a motor sent from the estate, that they should stay the night at the Hotel Britannia. Not only was the hotel exceptionally well appointed, the bedrooms exceedingly comfortable, and the cuisine excellent, but what was more, it stood close to the Nyugati Pályaudvar, the Western Railway Station where they would arrive on the midday express from Vienna.

So, with the necessary reservations duly made by Kleist, on their arrival here in the capital of the Kingdom of Hungary, with their luggage safely stowed, Matthew, Mary and Tom took a cab from the railway station for the short ride over to the Hotel Britannia.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

"There," said Saiorse, smiling happily at Max for whom, ever since they had first met, she had always had a very soft spot. Unlike that wretched boy Robert. "That's where it goes". So saying, she pressed the next piece of the puzzle firmly into place.

Uncle Matthew, Aunt Mary, and Da had all left for Budapest the previous day. This morning, with Uncle Friedrich having taken Danny and Robert for a day long hike through the woods around Rosenberg, while Simon and Bobby were somewhere about the house with Ma and Aunt Edith, Saiorse had Max all to herself.

Well, almost.

Under the ever watchful eyes of Nanny Bridges, even though Saiorse did her very best to pretend that Nanny wasn't here, with Fritz seated at their feet, Max and Saiorse were sitting outside on the terrace in the warm sunshine doing a jigsaw, helped from time to time in their endeavours by young Rebecca whose presence Saiorse also tried to ignore.

The subject of the puzzle was a striking picture: titled _Sitting On Top Of The World_ it depicted a young Boy Scout, sitting alone in the dark, gazing into the bright flames of a camp fire, waiting for his billycan to boil. Not that Saiorse could have known it, but the boy in the picture was exactly how Max himself longed to be. Had been dreadfully upset when, because of his haemophilia, Mama would not let him join the Scouts.

* * *

"So, then, what about it?" asked Friedrich brightly, just as the chimney stacks, the red tiled mansard roofs, and ochre coloured walls of Rosenberg hove once more into view. Danny and Robert exchanged glances. A moment later, each slowly shook his head.

"If it's all the same to you, Uncle Friedrich, I think we'd ..." Robert fell silent; looked at Danny.

"What Rob means, is we'd love to, for sure. But, not without Max".

Friedrich nodded approvingly.

"Very well then. Not until Max is recovered. Then, I'll take the three of you into Vienna for a ride on the Riesenrad".

"Smashing, Uncle Friedrich!"

"Thanks, for sure!"

Their uncle smiled broadly.

 _All for one and one for all._

Just as Matthew had said it had been, ever since that incident in the Alps last summer. No wonder Max thought the world of them. Suddenly feeling very warmly disposed towards his nephews, impulsively, Friedrich placed his arms about their shoulders and hugged them to him.

* * *

 **Dining Room, Hotel Britannia,** **Nagykörút,** **Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933.**

"So, very much like an English tea rooms?" asked Mary.

Matthew nodded; thereafter he assumed a mask of Chinese inscrutability.

He would let her find out for herself.

"More tea?"  
"Thank you. Shouldn't Tom be down by now?"

"Yes. Here he is!" Matthew nodded in the direction of the man now weaving a path between the tables in the hotel dining room, wending his way purposefully to where they were both sitting beside the window overlooking the street. A moment later, Tom drew level with the table. "And, looking decidedly chipper, even if I say so myself!"

Tom grinned.

"Good morning". Having kissed Mary lightly on the cheek, Tom sat down.

"Chipper, for sure?"

"Well, you're looking very pleased with yourself! From your expression, may we assume that after our own telephone call to Rosenberg last night, your own was just as successful?"

Tom smiled.

"Yes, when I got through! I spoke with Sybil and the children. They're just fine and all send their love. Young Max is continuing to improve, and Danny asked me to make sure I told you that Rob, Max, and he very much missed you reading to them last night". Tom smiled warmly at Mary who positively dimpled with pleasure. "Oh, and by the way, Sybil passed on a message from Edith that, while we're here in Budapest, we pay a visit to the coffee house she mentioned. The one near the Opera".

"Of course. Mary and I were just talking about that. Now, old chap, first things first, what are you going to have for breakfast?"

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

A short way on along the narrow track, some distance off, on a rocky outcrop, among the pine trees, Robert caught sight of an ivy clad, stone tower, topped by a row of crumbling battlements.

"What's that, over there, Uncle Friedrich?" he asked, now pointing to the tower.

"It's an old watchtower".

"How old is it?" asked Danny.

"I'm not exactly sure. I've heard it said that it was built by Duke Rudolf. That would have been ... during the fourteenth century. But whether that is true, I know not. All the same, it was standing here before Rosenberg ever existed. More recently, my grandfather put in an iron staircase and used it as a viewing platform. He called it _das eyrie_. It's the same word in English: the eyrie. When I was a boy, I climbed up there myself. But that was many years ago. And since that time it's been left to fall to pieces. No-one ever goes there. Not now".

Danny found himself reminded of the Pillar in the middle of O"Connell Street in Dublin, commemorating Admiral Nelson, and which, for a fee could be climbed by means of a narrow, winding stairway, up to the top, where, beneath the statue of Nelson, and from behind an iron railing you could look out across the domes, spires, and roofs of the city.

"May we go and see it?" Danny asked.

"Of course. But not today. Tomorrow, if you wish it. But, one thing more. As I am sure Max would tell you, if you asked him, the tower is dangerous. So, under no circumstances be tempted to try and climb it. Is that understood?"

Dutifully, the two boys nodded their assent.

* * *

 **Művész Coffee House, Andrássy út, Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933.**

The journey beneath the crowded streets of Budapest in a rattling, wooden seated car of the electric underground railway from the Oktogon to the Opera, short though it was, was a novel experience for the three of them; none more so than Mary who had never used the Underground in London. Given what Matthew had said, having been led to believe that she would find an establishment akin to one of the genteel tea rooms on offer in either Ripon or York, the coffee house here in the heart of Budapest, was not at all what Mary had expected. From the moment they arrived, Tom opening the door for her, standing aside to let her pass, doffing his hat in a mock obeisance, the caterwauling, raucous screech of violins emanating from within warned Mary that what Matthew had told her was rather wide of the mark.

As was only to be expected, the Művész was extremely busy; possessed a very varied clientele. An eclectic mix of all classes in the form of a seemingly never ending stream of patrons arriving on their own, in twos or threes, or else with a group of friends. Once seated, with their orders taken, and then brought out to them, they sat drinking coffee, eating, smoking, some reading from one or more of the newspapers provided by the coffee house; those who had come here with friends chatting animatedly together. Thereafter, at length, most took their respective leaves and went their separate ways although it seemed some were more than content to sit here the entire day.

For their part, all of the waiters were kept constantly busy; taking orders, fetching bills, bringing out cups of coffee, as well as plates of food, including mouth watering pastries, bearing their loaded trays aloft, skilfully wending their way through the lively throng of customers, at the same time somehow managing to keep a discrete eye on the needs of everyone.

Probably because of the fiddle music Tom found himself reminded of several of the more disreputable bars in Dublin he had frequented in the distant past and which, on occasion, he did so still. Said that he thought many of the younger men present, some of whom were decidedly bohemian in their attire, and who had drawn unflattering comments from Mary, were probably artists, writers, or else perhaps students from one of the several universities. Nodding discretely towards a group clustered in a corner, all of whom had long hair and beards, wearing black fedoras and suits, Tom whispered that they were Jews. Mary thought most of the clientele to be a rum lot and said she wouldn't be surprised to learn that they were all anarchists. She wasn't quite sure what the term meant but she had heard Matthew make use of it more than once, and in a context which had been far from complimentary.

* * *

 ** _From Tom Branson's Journal._**

 _"Soon we were hemmed in with trees ... till we passed as through a tunnel ... great frowning rocks guarded us boldly on either side. Though we were in shelter, we could hear the rising wind, for it moaned and whistled through the rocks, and the branches of the trees crashed together as we swept along. It grew colder and colder still, and fine, powdery snow began to fall, so that soon we and all around us were covered with a white blanket. The keen wind still carried the howling of the dogs, though this grew fainter as we went on our way. The baying of the wolves sounded nearer and nearer, as though they were closing round on us from every side"._

* * *

Tom fell silent.

"So, now, what do the both of yous t'ink?" he asked, assuming a playful grin.

Midst all the constant hustle and bustle, the fug of smoke haze, and the intoxicating, languid swoops, seductive slides and swirl of the gypsy music being played with reckless abandon on a quartet of fiddles, here in the coffee house, beneath a high ceiling hung with elaborate chandeliers, Matthew, Mary, and Tom were sitting in wicker backed chairs placed round a heavy marble topped table. Matthew and Mary exchanged bemused glances. Slowly, Matthew set down his coffee cup and, over his interlaced fingers, with a practised eye, for a minute or so, thoughtfully contemplated his Irish brother-in-law.

"Keen wind? Snow? Really? Well, old chap, with you being the Deputy Editor of a prestigious Irish newspaper, far be it from me to question your acute powers of observation but from what I saw yesterday, from the windows of the express, even at the speed at which we we travelling, both before and after we crossed the border into Hungary, the weather between here and Vienna was remarkably fine," observed Matthew. Turning his head, he gazed through the plate glass window of the coffee house, out onto the bustling street beyond where, beneath an impossibly blue and cloudless sky, scores of people were taking their ease strolling leisurely in the warm afternoon sunshine, along the wide boulevard of Andrássy út, passing by the imposing, ornate façade of the Royal Opera House which stood directly opposite the coffee house on the other side of the street. "As undoubtedly it still is".

"And wolves?" asked Mary, clearly incredulous. "Tom, darling, I didn't see any. Did you?" She turned to Matthew who promptly shook his head.

"No. None at all".

"Horses, certainly," continued Mary. "Plenty of those. And from what I could see of them, they were mainly Arabians. Oh, that really was delicious. Edith was absolutely right. The pastries they serve here in Budapest are perfectly splendid!" Mary dabbed daintily at the corners of her mouth with her napkin.

"Well, you did more than justice to it!" laughed Matthew, eyeing Mary's empty plate.

"Darling, in case you've forgotten, I am eating for two!" Mary pouted.

"Would yous like another?"

Mary smiled; shook her head.

"Thank you, but no".

Tom's mouth twitched and he broke into the broadest of smiles.

"Snow? Wolves?" repeated Matthew. "Yes, of course! Darling, I think our Tom has been indulging us in what is called artistic licence!"

"Oh, has he now!" Mary laughed. "So when you said you were reading from your diary ..."

"Well, not from mine, for sure. Jonathan Harker's!" Now laying aside his newspaper - a two day old edition of the Times - Tom held up the book which he had concealed behind it. "I borrowed it from Friedrich's library".

"Ah, _Dracula_. Wasn't that the story that so upset Simon and Bobby!"  
"For sure".

"But you are keeping a diary?" asked Mary.

"Of sorts. More of a notebook. Old habits die hard! Once a journalist ..." Tom stopped in mid sentence. Mary saw that he was now gazing intently at someone or something on the far side of the room. She turned her head in the direction in which Tom was looking but could see nothing that could have so held his attention. Indeed, everything seemed to be much as it had been when they had arrived here over an hour since.

"What is it?" Mary asked.

Some things are best left unsaid until the need arises for the telling of them.

Tom shook his head.

"Nothing, for sure. Now, what are we going to do for the rest of the day?"

All the same, despite what he had said, Tom had an exceptionally good, almost photographic, memory where faces were concerned. Yet there was no way that the man he had seen and who seemed now to have disappeared could have been sitting here in the coffee house.

And for one very good reason.

He was dead.

Drowned last year in the River Arno in distant Florence.

* * *

Singularly unaware that anything untoward had taken place, save for Tom, for everyone else here in the Művész, including both Matthew and Mary, the constant comings and goings continued as before.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

About the same time Matthew, Mary, and Tom were sitting drinking coffee in Budapest, here at Rosenberg, along with Bobby and Simon in tow, Danny and Robert were to be found threading their way along the path through the woods which led, eventually, up to the old watch tower and which the two older boys had glimpsed yesterday. High above the crowding trees, well out of sight of the four boys, a golden eagle soared on the wing before at length swooping down and alighting on top of the ruined tower, where it sat solitary, emitting its customary shrill and plaintive cry; heard from below, long before he spied them, the sound of the boys' approach through the encircling woods.

Having crossed the stream, not far from where Max had his accident, then clambered upwards through the silent darkness of the pine forest for nearly an hour, at last the trees began to thin and a short while later, the four boys were standing on a sward of mossy turf, on the far side of which there reared the crumbling, ivy shrouded masonry of the watchtower. Looking up, Danny spied the eagle still perched atop the battlements, whereupon he let out an appreciative whistle.

"That must be where its nest is. I'm going to see if I can get a closer look, for sure". Followed by the others, Danny ran across the sunlit glade, only to find, to his dismay, that the arched entrance, which lay on the far side of the ruin, was blocked by a heap of fallen stones.

"I wonder if ... Here, Rob, give me a hand, for sure!" Rob did as he was bidden and together he and Danny soon managed to prise loose several of the larger stones.

"You told us Uncle Friedrich said we shouldn't go in there".

Robert glowered at his brother.

" _Uncle Friedrich said we shouldn't_ ," he mimicked. "You two are just plain scared".

"No we're not!" yelled Bobby.

"Yes, you are!"  
"No, we're not!" cried Simon.

"Then prove it!"

"All right, we will!"

Between them, the four boys soon managed to dislodge enough of the loose stones from the blocked doorway and make an opening wide enough through which they could climb. Once inside, they found to their surprise, that it was much lighter within the tower than they had expected, owing to the fact that the roof had collapsed so that, high above their heads, a circle of bright blue sky was clearly visible.

"Jaysus, but it's a long way up for sure!" exclaimed Danny craning his neck. Even so, he had already set his foot on the first of the cast iron steps and begun to climb upwards. A moment later and Rob had followed suit.

"Yous not going up there, are yous?" asked Bobby nervously.

Danny turned; looked down fondly at his young brother.

"Not the whole way, no, for sure".

"Are you two coming or not?" asked Rob.

Simon and Bobby stared fixedly at each other. Neither of them wanted to be called a coward. So, leaving Oscar on guard seated on the bottom step, a moment later, all four boys were making their way up the rusty iron stairs.

* * *

 **Andrássy út, Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933.**

Having left the coffee house, along with Tom, arm in arm Matthew and Mary set off along the wide street in the direction of the Oktogon, mingling with the other passers by, so as to take in some of the sights of Budapest, before hailing a cab and returning to their hotel in time to change for dinner.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

Having negotiated several turns of the spiral staircase, as they climbed ever higher, the boys found the steps becoming more dilapidated. At one point the rusty iron supports had given way, leaving the treads hanging in mid air supported only by those immediately above and below which still remained fastened to the curving masonry of the tower. The stair swayed ominously and the rusted metal groaned its protest, a sure sign that the combined weight of the four boys was becoming too great for the decayed state of the structure.

"We'd better go one behind the other, for sure" said Danny.

So they did.

Which was just as well, for, shortly afterwards, Danny found a tread to be missing, swiftly warning the others of the fact. Further on, another had vanished. Then came a place where two steps were gone. And, in another, eaten through by rust, three had fallen away.

When they were just over halfway, something alerted Danny that all was not as it should be. Sinking to his knees, feeling ahead with his hands, he found that just above him there was another break in the stairs; this one much greater than those they had encountered so far. That he and Rob could negotiate it and carry on to the top Danny had no doubt. But, as for Simon and Bobby, it might, said Danny, be better if they stayed where they were.

Simon and Bobby watched silently as first Danny, then Rob, stood, leaned forward, stretched out their arms until their fingers touched the next step above, before firmly grasping hold of the tread, and pulling themselves up and across the break. Fired by the prowess they had displayed thus far, the younger boys were not prepared to stay put. If their brothers could do it, then so could they.

Even so, at the sight of the break Bobby shivered.

"Come on then Bobby!" called Danny from above.

"I''ll fall, for sure!"

"No you won't. Now, lean forward, and stretch out your arms".

"Like this?"

"That's it, for sure. No, don't look down. Look at me. Keep looking at me. Now, reach!"

A moment later, and in a trice, young Bobby was pulled up clear of the break to stand proudly beside his brother, looking down as Rob now helped Simon across the yawning chasm of the void.

* * *

 **Junction of Andrássy út and** **Nagykörút** **, Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933.**

"Tom, what on earth is it?" asked Matthew sounding genuinely concerned.

 _It_ had now happened several times; Tom turning round in the street and looking behind them. Shamefaced, he had to admit that he had seen a woman.

"A woman!" Matthew chuckled as the three of them continued their slow amble along the pavement.

"A _woman_?" Mary repeated, managing to sound ever so slightly censorious.

"Married to someone as beautiful as Sybil and you're looking at other women?" Matthew sounded incredulous.

"I swear she was the splitting image of Sybil. Her face, her hair, even her walk ..."

"A doppelgänger then".

"For sure! Don't yous?" quipped Tom.  
"Don't I what?"

"Look at other women?"

Honestly, thought Mary, the two of them were quite incorrigible.

"Married to ...?"

Nodding in Mary's direction, Matthew gave a quick, sideways glance at the profile of his wife. Aware that Matthew's eyes were upon her, Mary chose to assume an air of aristocratic detachment; continued to look straight ahead, waiting for Matthew to pay her a compliment to match that which he had bestowed upon Sybil.

"Well, do yous?" persisted Tom with a grin.

"I wouldn't dare!"

Of course, what Mary expected Matthew to say was that she too was beautiful and that like Tom, Matthew didn't look at other women. But, what he had said suggested rather that he only refrained from doing so because she herself was a virago. Unaware that he had blundered, Matthew continued ribbing Tom.

"So, while the cat's away ... eh?"

Mary turned her head; looked disdainfully at Matthew.

"So, am I to gather that the only thing preventing **you** looking at other women is the fact that you consider me to be some kind of termagant?"

Now it was Matthew's turn to blush.

"Mea culpa! No, not at all, darling. I've absolutely no desire to do so!"

"Then, you're forgiven!" laughed Mary.

* * *

"Sorry, for sure!" Tom was apologetic.

"So, what is it now?"

"My shoelace".

"Your shoelace?"

"Yes. Yous two carry on. I'll catch you up".

"All right".

Matthew and Mary strolled on; a moment later they had disappeared out of sight, swallowed up by the crowds.

* * *

That someone had attracted Tom's attention was true enough.

But it had been a man.

The same man whom he had seen earlier in the coffee house.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

Exposed to countless years of harsh weather, little more than half of the viewing platform installed by Uncle Friedrich's grandfather still remained intact and most of the surrounding balustrade had gone as well. Much to Danny's disappointment save for its eyrie made up of a web of intricately laced branches and twigs, lined with moss and dried grass, littered about with the sun bleached bones of many small mammals, of the golden eagle itself there was now no sign. On balance, this was probably for the best.

Away to the north there glistened the snow capped peaks of the Alps while far beyond where the chimneys and roofs of Rosenberg nestled peacefully midst the green swell of the woods, the silver ribbon of the Danube sparkled in the afternoon sunshine, with Vienna but a smudge on the distant horizon. Then, almost imperceptibly at first, over the mountains, the sky began to darken, heralding the approach of another storm. The first drops of rain began to dapple down. Time, said Danny, that they were on their way.

To begin with all went reasonably well, although as the sky grew ever darker, here within the old tower, as they made their way downwards, it became more and more difficult to see, and they had yet to negotiate the large break in the stairs. But, not until they reached it did they realise that it would not be possible to swing off and drop down in reversal of the way in which they had made their ascent.

They were trapped.

Unless ...

It fell to Danny to explain.

This time there could be no question of helping each other.

Each of the boys would have to jump across the breach ... on his own.

* * *

 **Entrance to Oktogen** **Underground station,** **Andrássy út** **, Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933.**

"Where on earth can he have got to?" asked Matthew.

"Perhaps he's enjoying an assignation with his woman!" laughed Mary.

"Darling, I'm being serious!" exclaimed Matthew, now earnestly scanning the crowds.

But of Tom, there was no sign.

None whatsoever.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

"I'll go first," said Danny; not out of any sense of bravado but rather because he was aware, painfully so, that this was all his own fault. That if only he had heeded Uncle Friedrich's warning about the old tower, none of this would have happened. Odd to relate but suddenly he found himself thinking of the talkie to which Da had taken him at the Metropole in Dublin last year, one Saturday afternoon, while they had been waiting for Ma; a comedy starring Laurel and Hardy. It had been the fat one who said it:

 _Here's another fine mess you've gotten me into_

* * *

 **Entrance to Oktogen** **Underground station,** **Andrássy út** **, Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933.**

"Will you be all right here, if I go back and look for him?"  
"Of course, darling, although I am sure he'll be along in a minute".

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

Along with Robert, Simon, and Bobby both stood back while Danny mounted two steps up from where he had been standing so as to give himself the necessary momentum. A minute later, he launched himself forward but, as Danny did so, the stair on which he had been standing shifted, throwing him off balance.

* * *

 **Entrance to Oktogen** **Underground station,** **Andrássy út** **, Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933.**

A short while later, Matthew returned alone to the entrance of the Underground station, only to find that of Mary there was now no sign either.

 **Author's Note:**

Opened in 1913, the Hotel Britannia (today the Radisson Blu Beke) boasted all the latest amenities, its heyday being during the 1930s when it was the centre of social life in Budapest.

 _Sitting On Top Of The World_ was one of many jigsaw puzzles produced in the 1930s by the Madmar Quality Company of Utica in New York State, America.

For Max and his desire to join the Scouts, see Chapter 9 of _The Snow Waltz_.

 _Duke Rudolf_ \- Rudolf IV, Duke of Austria (1339-1365).

Completed in 1809, Nelson's Pillar or just "The Pillar", was a prominent landmark and popular tourist attraction in Dublin. However, its design drew unfavourable comment and its situation caused traffic problems. After Ireland achieved her independence, even though many Dubliners had fought in Nelson's Navy, the presence of a memorial to a British admiral, in the heart of the Irish capital, became increasingly contentious, culminating in the Pillar being blown up by the IRA on the fiftieth anniversary of the Easter Rising in 1966.

Opened in 1896, the Budapest Metro, still in operation and greatly expanded from its initial one line, is the oldest electrified underground railway system on the European continent.

The Metropole Cinema, on O'Connell Street, opened in 1922 and closed in 1972. The film Tom took Danny to see would have been _The Laurel-Hardy Murder Case._ Released in 1930, it was the first film in which Oliver Hardy utters what would become his famous catchphrase: "Here's another _**nice**_ mess you've gotten me into" although the words are often misquoted as Danny does here.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Bloody Foreigners!

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

One thing was certain: Aunt Edith was full of all manner of surprises. Why, only last year, while they were all on board the Rome Express bound for Florence, Danny and Rob had been astonished to learn that not only did their aunt know how to fly an aeroplane but that she held a pilot's licence too.

And now it transpired that there were things which Saiorse did not know about Ma too; for, when, to help keep Max entertained, Aunt Edith had suggested that the four of them play the game they were playing now, sitting seated round the table here on the terrace, Ma knew all about it. Apparently, Grandpapa had taught her how it was played, long before Aunt Edith had taught the game to Max.

"What did you say it was called again, Ma?"

" _Mahjong_ , darling".

"And it comes from China?"

"Yes, that's right. All the way from China. Your dear Grandpapa had a set just like this. The last time I saw it was when Da and I went back to Downton after we were married. Then it was in the library. I suppose it probably still is. Darling, remind me to ask Mary about it". Edith nodded.

"And yous say _this_ is a Dragon?" Clearly bemused, Saiorse held up one of the small ivory pieces with which the game was played. Ma smiled.

"Yes, darling, that's right".

"It doesn't look at all like a Dragon". She replaced the piece, which Ma said was called a tile, back on the table.

Ma laughed.

"Agreed. But then, does _this_ look like a Wind?" Ma picked up another tile and which, just like all the rest, bore a Chinese character upon it. Saiorse had to agree that it did not. "Now then," said Ma brightly, this is what you have to do ..."

* * *

 **Andrássy út** **, Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933.**

As he continued with the pretence of tying up the lace of his right shoe, Tom kept a weather eye open on the carefree crowds passing by him along the broad sweep of the pavement in the warm afternoon sunshine. He was certain that the man he had glimpsed behind them, albeit only briefly, had been the same individual whom he had seen earlier in the coffee house. Yet now, once again, he seemed to have vanished. A veritable reincarnation of the late Harry Houdini, possessed of the uncanny ability to appear and then disappear at will and with consummate ease. A classic case of _Now you see me,_ _Now you don't._

And then ...

* * *

 **The Old Tower, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

"Danny! No! Don't!" screamed Bobby in alarm, as his brother sprang forward. The stair rocked and the whole rickety structure swayed violently from side to side, causing Rob, Simon, and Bobby to grab hold of what still remained of the balustrade. A moment later, in the gathering gloom, and from somewhere far below them, there came a metallic clang; the strident and unmistakable sound of metal striking metal. As for Danny, thankfully, he landed on his knees on the far side of the breach, several steps down the stairs from the break, but awkwardly so; was now lying crumpled in a heap against the curving wall of the tower.

"Danny!" yelled Rob.

But there was no reply.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

"I think," said Edith, glancing up at the rapidly darkening sky as the first raindrops now began to patter down, "that we'd all better go inside".

Sybil nodded. It was such a shame. When they had been sitting playing _Mahjong_ the weather had been absolutely glorious. She rose to her feet.

"Come along, you two".

Saiorse pulled a face.

"Do we have to, Ma?"

With Fritz dozing peacefully in her lap, Saiorse and Max were now doing another jigsaw puzzle; this time, much to Saiorse's relief, without the well meaning assistance of young Rebecca who was inside, upstairs in the nursery, along with both Nanny and the babies.

"Please, Mama, may we stay out here?"

"Max, darling, it's starting to rain. You've already had one soaking this holiday! So, unless you two want to get very wet, then the answer is no!"

Edith smiled indulgently; first at her son and then at Saiorse in whom she saw a great deal of herself at the same age her niece was now. In Edith's case, resentful of and, if the truth be told, overawed by Mary, while not possessed of the same kind nature and sweet temperament as Sybil, and at the time singularly unaware of her own true worth and accomplishments. From what Sybil had told her, Edith knew that, on occasions, Saiorse also found herself the odd one out having a very endearing, personable, and winning older brother in Danny and a younger brother, winsome, impish, sweet little Bobby, the Branson family joker, who looked so like his father, and whom everyone adored. And now there was little Dermot for her to contend with as well!

There was also another reason why Edith found herself drawn to Saiorse - which had to do with Max. In this regard, Edith knew just how fond Saiorse was of her cousin. Not of course that she had had the chance to see much of him, given that, after the arrival here at Rosenberg of the Bransons and the Crawleys, at least until his accident, Max was always off somewhere, trailing devotedly after Danny and Rob. Like the other adults, Edith knew that the feelings Max had for Danny and Rob were reciprocated in equal measure. The three boys were utterly inseparable; although at the present moment, Danny and Rob were off somewhere with Simon and Bobby. Down in the meadow below the house, or so she understood. With her earlier promise of Frau Eder finding all of them, Max included, some _Apfelstrudel_ in the kitchen, Edith had no doubt that, if they were not already on their way back up to the house, then, given the weather, they soon would be. And while Max had obviously been somewhat disconsolate that he could not go with them, Edith had been very proud of him, for being so grown up about it.

* * *

 _"Yes, Papa told me that," said Max when, having asked him about the old tower, Danny and_ _Rob_ _said that Uncle Friedrich had told them it was dangerous._

 _"Well, we're only going to have a closer look at it, aren't we Dan?" asked Rob._

 _Danny nodded._

 _"All the same, but best if we don't say anything about where we're_ _going". Danny eyed first Simon, and then Bobby. "Yous know what Ma's like!"_

 _"_ _For sure"._ _Bobby grinned conspiratorially at his brother._

 _"Grand!"_

 _"I do so wish I could come"._

 _"Don't worry, Max. we'll tell yous all about it later"._

 _Max nodded. He knew Danny was only trying to be kind but it wouldn't be the same as being there._

* * *

Out here on the terrace, with little Fritz trotting beside her, somewhat disgruntled at having had his nap disturbed, as Saiorse carried carefully the board bearing the jigsaw over towards the house, Edith caught sight of Max looking wistfully back across his shoulder.

"Cheer up, darling, they'll soon be back".

"Yes, of course, Mama".

Still on crutches, Max looked down at the flagstones, seemingly concentrating on where he was going. He had always been a poor liar and if Mama now chose to ask him anything about what it was the others had gone to see down there in the meadow below the house, he knew his face would betray him. It always did. Fortunately, unwittingly, Aunt Sybil came to his aid.

"So, darling, what time do you expect Friedrich to return?"

"On the late afternoon train which gets into St. Johann at six o'clock. The motor will be there to meet him at the station. So, Friedrich should be back here well in time for dinner, although I do so wish that he hadn't had to go into Vienna". Edith sighed; now lowered her voice. "You remember what I told you about the encounter Max and I had there a couple of Christmases ago".

Sybil nodded.

"Yes, darling, it sounded positively awful".

"And things haven't improved since. In fact, they're a whole lot worse".

"But, didn't you say that it was just an academic meeting Friedrich was attending?"  
"Yes, that's right. At the Archaeological Institute. But given the way things are here in Austria, not that I want to worry you, it's best to stay out of Vienna".

"So when Friedrich said about taking the boys into the city to ride on the ferris wheel ..."  
"Yes, well ... While I've no doubt it was kindly meant, he and I have had words about that. In any case, I doubt Max will be well enough to do anything of the sort. At least not before you all leave. Which, is probably for the best".

Sybil linked arms with Edith.

"Tom said he'd telephone again tonight," she said happily.

"Did he now?" Edith glanced at her sister. "I wonder what they're doing? Well, no doubt you'll hear all about it tonight".

"Yes, I suppose I shall".

* * *

 **Western Forecourt, Royal Palace, Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933.**

A Captain in the 2nd Hussars, aged twenty five, handsome, and single, Tibor Csáky had always enjoyed the finer things in life although, since the collapse of the empire in 1918, here in the rump of what yet remained of the Kingdom of Hungary many of these had been, and continued to be, in decidedly short supply. However, as Tibor himself would have freely admitted, his own memories of what went before the world was turned upside down were decidedly hazy; after all, he had been only ten years old when the Great War ended in the twin cataclysms of defeat and the disintegration of the empire and but a handful of memories remained to him from before that time.

The youngest of four children, Tibor had an elder brother András and two sisters, Sarika and Ilona. And for some strange reason, in infinite detail, he could recall his fifth birthday. Quite why this was so, he could never fathom, it being no more remarkable than those which had preceded it or indeed those which came after, but he recalled the presents he had received and the young friends who had attended the lavish celebration his parents had thrown to mark him attaining his fifth year. Another memory was of a shooting party also held in 1913, at Serényi the family's estate near Oradea in Transylvania which had ended in tragedy when one of the beaters had inadvertently put himself in the line of fire and been killed. And then, the third Christmas of the war, spent here in Budapest in 1916, and the Coronation which had followed hard upon it but a few days thereafter, of the last king, Karl IV, held in the Matthias Church, a few hundred yards from the Royal Palace where His Serene Highness, the Regent, Admiral Miklós Horthy now resided.

Tibor's late father, Károly, had died of a heart attack on the very same day that Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his morganatic wife Sophie Chotek were shot dead in Sarajevo: 28th June 1914. Not that the two events were in any sense connected; Károly Csáky had little time for the bombastic archduke and, in any case, he had died several hours before the news of what had happened on that summer's day, close to the Latin Bridge in the hot, dusty Bosnian capital, had become common knowledge. Yet, while the assassination in Sarajevo sparked off a series of events which led directly to the outbreak of the Great War, indirectly they also caused the death of András, Tibor's elder brother, who was killed by the Russians in the final days of the siege of Przemyśl in January 1915.

That after the end of the Great War, Hungary had become a kingdom without a king, landlocked, and ruled over by a former admiral with no navy, was known to one and all. The dramatic reduction in the country's erstwhile territorial extent, its power, and its prestige, was mirrored in miniature by the loss of the greater part of the Csáky family's own fortune and their personal circumstances were likewise much reduced, as Tibor's widowed mother never ceased telling him even though it was self evident. Their former country estate at Serényi now lay in what had become Roumanian territory and so was lost to them forever; while here in Budapest part of their magnificent town house, standing on the Uri út just below the Vár and the Royal Palace, had been let out to try and make ends meet.

And there was something else too.

For, with the end of the war and the enforced reduction in the size of Hungary's armed forces as part of the terms of that damnable treaty, another of the old certainties had disappeared. In 1918, shortly before the empire collapsed, and when he was ten years old, Tibor had been enrolled in a military secondary school from where, seven years later he had graduated as an ensign, a precursor to joining the army in which, in the days of the empire, generation after generation of his own family had served.

But by 1925, with money in short supply, even for the wedding of Sarika to Pal Laczovich, as Tibor approached his seventeenth birthday, the chances of him continuing with his military studies at the prestigious Ludovica Academy here in Budapest looked to be a forlorn hope; while the prospect of serving in the Royal Gendarmerie or becoming a customs official on a gunboat patrolling the Danube, which these days was where some of those who aspired to pursue a career in the army ended up, was decidedly unappealing.

But, so the saying goes, every cloud has a silver lining and, in a sense, it could be said that in this regard Death smiled upon young Tibor when Mihály the son of a distant cousin of his mother - here in Hungary all of the aristocracy were related - died as a result of injuries sustained in fighting a duel despite there being a prohibition on the resolution of matters of honour by this means. Being unmarried, what remained of Mihály's wealth devolved, ultimately, upon Tibor thus providing him with the necessary means to attend the Academy; this and the fact that the name of Csáky still counted for something, especially with General Henrik Werth, its commanding officer.

Tibor's time at the Academy came to an end in 1929. Thereafter he was commissioned into the 11th Cavalry Division of the 22nd Cavalry Brigade of the 2nd Hussars. Four years later, here in Budapest, in the Western Forecourt of the Royal Palace, beside the Matthias Fountain, on a warm summer's afternoon, seated astride his chestnut stallion, János, Tibor gave the order for his troop to move off. A few moments later they were trotting smartly away from the Royal Palace, down the steep hill of the Vár, bound for the Széchenyi Chain Bridge and thence into Pest on the eastern bank of the Danube.

* * *

 **The Old Tower,** **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

"Bobby! Let me go next!"  
"No! He's **my** brother!" yelled Bobby, fighting back his tears and angrily throwing off Rob's restraining arm. A moment later, he had climbed back up to the same step from which Danny had launched himself across the void.

"Bobby! No!" The metal stair creaked ominously.

Heedless of the danger - if for a single instant had he stopped to think about that, he would not have done what he did now - copying what he had seen Danny do, Bobby jumped hard for the nearest step on the far side of the break.

* * *

 **Westbahnhof, Vienna, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

The tension here on the streets of Vienna was palpable.

Earlier today, shortly after his arrival in the capital, Friedrich had seen for himself just how bad things had become when, among others, he had been an unwilling witness to a vicious encounter in a side street near the station between uniformed members of the Vaterländische Front and supporters of the recently banned Republikanischer Schutzbund which altercation had brought both trams and motors in the immediate vicinity to a standstill and sent pedestrians scurrying for cover. Not that Friedrich was a nervous man, indeed far from it, but with his meeting at the Archaeological Institute now over, he was very glad to be on his way home.

Like Tom, Friedrich had an excellent memory for faces and, unless he was very much mistaken, the two men, both wearing the uniform of the Vaterländische Front and standing by the door of his compartment, were the same pair he had seen earlier in the day on his arrival at the main entrance of the Archaeological Institute. They had been there again, this time on the other side of the street, when he had left the building to hail a cab to bring him here to the Westbahnhof to catch the Salzburg express. And now, here they were again. Not that he was unduly alarmed, having dealt with a situation akin to this once before, but that had been in Baghdad, not here in Vienna. All the same, Friedrich took the precaution of grasping the handle of his cane more firmly. A matter of moments later, he reached the door to his compartment.

"Would you kindly let me pass?"

"Herr Schönborn, is it?"

* * *

 **The Old Tower, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

Landing beside Danny's inert form, Bobby was safely across the breach too.

"Danny!" But his brother didn't answer.

A moment later and Bobby saw the blood.

* * *

 **Outside Oktogen** **Underground station,** **Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933.**

While she stood and waited anxiously for Matthew to reappear, Mary took in her immediate surroundings. With the ashlar fronted buildings, four or five stories high, the elegant shops and townhouses, along with the crowds of well dressed people strolling along the pavements in the afternoon sunshine Mary found herself reminded of Bond Street in Mayfair although here in Budapest, despite the press of people, it appeared to be much less crowded. Even so, the traffic seemed as bad as it was in London; a never ending stream of vehicles, trams, omnibuses and private motors. As if to reinforce this, with its bell clanging noisily, yet another tram rattled past, close to where she was standing.

Then, above all the other noises, Mary heard sounds much closer to her own heart; the unmistakable jingle of harness and the clip clop of horses' hooves. Looking about her, she now saw that a troop of cavalry was entering the square, trotting smartly in her direction across the cobbles. Hussars by the look of them. With their yellow plumed, light blue shakos, the plumes nodding jauntily in the faintest of breezes, their heavily braided dark green atillas and fur trimmed pelisses, scarlet breeches, and knee length black boots, the troop of cavalry presented a magnificent spectacle; one which harked back to a vanished world, that had all but ceased to exist as long ago as the long hot summer of 1914.

As he passed by her, the young officer at the head of the troop turned his head in Mary's direction. Seeing her eyes were upon him, he saluted her smartly, Mary returning his acclamation by inclining her head, although to be truthful at this precise moment in time she was rather more interested in the horse he was riding; a high stepping, chestnut stallion. A purebred Shagya Arabian. Mary was entranced; she stepped forward in order to gain a better view ... of the horse.

* * *

 **The Old Tower, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

The stair quivered and from somewhere far below came again the discordant sound of metal striking metal.

"How's Danny? yelled Rob from the other side of the breach.

"I ... I don't know," cried Bobby.

* * *

 **Andrássy út** **, Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933.**

Of all the finer things in life, the one Captain Tibor Csáky appreciated most was the beauty of a woman. So, when this fine afternoon from the lofty perch of his saddle he had espied the elegant, dark haired woman with the flawless ivory complexion standing alone beside the entrance to the Underground, looking, in his opinion ever so slightly forlorn, in a word, Tibor was smitten.

* * *

A short distance from the Underground station at the Oktogen, Tibor brought his troop to a stand. Then, telling Sergeant Lengyel to remain where they were, taking the ribbing of his men in good part, Tibor turned his horse about and rode slowly back across the square, Janos' steel shod hooves striking sparks from the cobbles. A moment later, appearing as if from out of nowhere, two motors, being driven at speed, overtook both man and horse in a cloud of dust and fumes. Tibor shook his head in exasperation; these motors were a damned menace. And every year it seemed there were yet more of them.

The clanging, rattling, yellow painted trams were a nuisance too and it was one of these that was now the cause of what followed. Tibor had all but drawn level with the woman once again when one of the tramcars grinding its way across the wide expanse of the square came to a sudden and unexpected stop. Quite what it was that was wrong was of no concern to Tibor. Perhaps it was a mechanical problem or maybe it had something to do with the two young men who suddenly jumped down from off the rear of the tram, and without even looking ran off, straight across the path of Janos, who reared unexpectedly all but throwing Tibor out of the saddle. The two men careered into the woman knocking her to the ground, neither of them stopping, leaving her to pick herself up from off the ground. By the time he reached her, had jumped down out of the saddle, saluted again, and had begun to enquire in Hungarian whether he could be of assistance, she was on her feet and brushing herself down.

"Foreigners! That's what they all are. Bloody foreigners!"

English then.

The corners of Tibor's mouth twitched in amusement.

"I don't doubt it. Here in Hungary we have all manner of peoples: Magyars, Croats, Slovaks, Roumanians, Germans. Even English! Take your pick. Now, may this _bloody foreigner_ be of assistance?"

Mary looked up; found herself looking into a pair of sparkling grey eyes, alive with mirth.

And so it was that Fate in the guise of Tibor's chestnut purebred conspired to cross the paths of Mary, Countess of Grantham and Captain Tibor Csáky.

It was a meeting which neither of them would ever forget.

* * *

 **Outside Oktogen** **Underground station,** **Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933.**

Still looking for Mary, and, understandably, growing increasingly concerned, suddenly as if from out of nowhere, Matthew found himself surrounded on all sides by a small group of men, all wearing the light brown uniforms and black feathered forage caps of the Hungarian Royal Gendarmarie.

"Steady on! I say, what on earth do you think you're doing?"

Evidently none of the three men spoke any English, as answer to Matthew's question came there none.

Unlike Mary, who took the attitude that everyone should speak English, and if they did not, all that was necessary to make them understand what was being said was to speak both louder and slower, Matthew had always had a good ear for languages; had excelled at French while still at school. And while he would not claim to be fluent, his time spent over in France during the Great War, let alone his subsequent involvement with the League in Geneva, had made him very proficient in the language.

It was worth a try.

"Qu'est-ce qui se passe?"

Which elicited not even so much as a Gallic shrug.

A legacy of the vanished empire, German was still much spoken here in Hungary. Again from his time in France, Matthew possessed some rags of the language from speaking to German POWs.

"Was is los?"

No response to this either.

And, while respectful enough, touching their caps deferentially, the three soldiers made it perfectly plain to Matthew that he was to go with them, taking him none too gently by the arms, and thereafter leading him away from the Underground station, to his puzzlement and to the amazement of both onlookers and passers-by.

Was he under arrest?

It seemed so.

And, as he was marched away, all the while trying desperately to catch a glimpse of Mary, or for that matter Tom, Matthew found himself also trying frantically to recall the name of the British ambassador here in Budapest. Was it still Chilston? Or had he been recalled?

* * *

 **The Old Tower, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

"Danny, please, please wake up!" wailed Bobby.

"Hang on, Bobby, I'm coming!" yelled Rob.

"No, I'll go next," said Simon quietly.

"You?" Rob was about to protest but when he saw the steely determination in his brother's brown eyes, he relented.

"Yes, me. And if anything should happen ... promise me ... that you'll look after Oscar".

"It won't. You'll do just fine".

Simon turned and made his way up the stair.

"But if I don't ..."

"You will. Piece of cake!"

Simon smiled.

"All the same, promise?"  
"I promise," Rob said solemnly; for once in his life feeling inordinately very proud of his young brother.

* * *

 **Railway Station, St. Johann, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

As the six o'clock express pulled smartly away from the station, outside in the forecourt, waiting in the Steyr, Weisman duly folded up his newspaper. However, when some five minutes later there was still no sign of the master, the chauffeur opened the driver's door, climbed down from the motor, and went round the side of the station building, only to find that the platform was completely deserted.

 **Author's Note:**

Originating in China in the seventeenth century, the game of _Mahjong_ spread throughout the world in the early twentieth century.

Born in 1874, Harry Houdini, the famous magician and escapologist, had died in 1926.

For what happened to Edith and Max in Vienna, see _The Snow Waltz._

In Hungarian, first and surnames are reversed but in the story I have adopted Western European usage for convenience. Csáky is, I understand, pronounced Sarky. If not, then perhaps someone will let me know.

The enforced reduction in the size of Hungary's armed forces was another consequence of the Treaty of Trianon. In order to circumvent this, military personnel were routinely and clandestinely transferred to serve in a variety of other organisations, including the Royal Gendarmerie and the River Guard or Danube Flotilla.

The Emperor Karl had outlawed duelling in the Austro-Hungarian Empire in 1917. Yet despite this, while now illegal, and incredible as it may seem, sabre duels were still being fought in Hungary in the 1920s and 30s, the very last taking place in 1956.

General Henrik Werth (1881-1952) was commanding officer at the Ludovica Academy in 1926.

The Vaterländische Front was now the only legally permitted political party in Austria. Established by Chancellor Dollfuss in May 1933, it had absorbed various right wing organisations, all of which were opposed not only to the Communists and the Social Democrats, but also to the Austrian Nazis who wanted the country to unify with Germany.

Chilston - Aretas Akers-Douglas, 2nd Viscount Chilston, GCMG, PC (1876-1947), was a British diplomat who served as British Ambassador to Hungary 1928-33.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Arizona Comes To Budapest

 **Outside Oktogen** **Underground station,** **Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933.**

"How do you propose doing that?" Mary asked, immediately aloof and suspicious, emotions stemming from her own natural reticence and innate shyness rather than any deliberate attempt on her part to appear either disdainful or haughty. In this Mary was only reacting the way the English always did when they were abroad and had the misfortune to encounter an outgoing and friendly foreigner, choosing to believe that rather than attempting to be helpful, the individual concerned was trying to dupe them or else sell something. It was only now that Mary realised she had lost her hat whereupon her hands flew to her head, feeling her hair. Dear God, I must look a positive fright. Glancing about her, Mary saw the hat, lying forlorn upon the cobbles.

Having hitched János' reins to a nearby lamppost, Tibor bent down and retrieved the hat. He had heard all about the English aristocratic reserve from Sándor Herzog a boyhood friend who had been sent over to boarding school in England. Perhaps, thought Tibor, he should enquire of her about the weather; always a safe bet where the English were concerned, although quite why it held such a fascination for them remained a complete mystery, at least to this _bloody foreigner._ Deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, Tibor silently handed Mary the crumpled hat before again saluting smartly, then standing ramrod still as if carved out of granite.

"Just whom do I have the honour of addressing?"

"Captain Tibor Csáky of the 2nd Hussars and of the Regent's Escort. At your service".

"Lady Grantham". Mary held out her gloved hand. "Thank you, captain".

"For what?" asked Tibor.  
"My hat, what else?" replied Mary sharply, as she busied herself pushing it back into shape, before ramming the offending article firmly back upon her head.

"My pleasure!" Tibor smiled. "May I ask what brings you to Budapest?"

His English was impeccable. Even so, Mary demurred having no wish to continue this singularly pointless exchange; saw no reason to volunteer any information other than that which was absolutely necessary.

"I'm waiting for someone," she said; anxiously scanning the passing crowds for some sign of either Matthew or Tom. Preferably both of them. Just where on earth were they?

"By enquiring after your health, ascertaining if I could be of assistance".

"I beg your pardon?"  
"You asked me how I might be of service to you".

"Yes. Well, I don't think you can. Not unless ..."  
"Unless, what?"  
"You are in a position to help find my husband and my brother-in-law".

Married then. Wearing gloves it had not been obvious but, given her beauty, it was, thought Tibor, only to be expected.

"Where did you last see your ..."

"My husband? Here. A short while ago. He went back to look for my brother-in-law. Over there, somewhere". Mary pointed down the length of the street. "I expect they'll both be along directly," she said, doing her best to mask her rising concern.

"That street?" Tibor nodded in the direction of the crowds, milling about in the sunshine along the length of Andrássy út.

"Yes. We came ... from that direction. From near the Opera House. We were on our way to ..." Mary paused. Try as she might, she found she couldn't recall where it was Tom had suggested they go.

"Their names?" prompted Tibor.

 _Yes, he would need to know that._

"Lord Grantham, my husband. And Mr. Branson, my brother-in-law.

"Well, I'm sure they won't have come to any harm; nor, for that matter, should they be that difficult to find".

"I hope you're right".

"I'm certain of it".

"That remains to be seen".

Having unhitched János' reins, Tibor suggested that they should walk the short distance over to where the men of his troop awaited his return. But then, before they had taken more than a few steps, with its horn blaring loudly, a maroon Mercedes Benz screeched to a stop beside them.

"Who on earth ..."

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

In the hall, the telephone rang.

Up on the landing, where Max and Saiorse had paused in order to give Max a rest after climbing the stairs on his crutches, both were privy to what happened next. Kleist picked up the receiver, and a short conversation ensued with whomsoever it was who had telephoned the house. A moment later the butler calmly replaced the receiver and, his features inscrutable as ever, unflappable as Beach, and at his customary sedate pace, Kleist disappeared from the hall.

Max turned to Saiorse; shook his head

"Papa wasn't on the express," he whispered.

"Why not?" asked Saiorse.

"I don't know," Max said, clearly upset.

* * *

 **Westbahnhof, Vienna, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

Friedrich chose to ignore the question which had been asked of him, instead, eyeing the two young men dispassionately, realisation swiftly dawning upon him that both of them appeared to be far more nervous of this encounter than he was himself. And it was this recognition which now served to reassure Friedrich that things were not quite as they had first seemed. That both men wore the uniform of the Vaterländische Front was true enough, but for all that, something wasn't right. For one thing, they were far too polite. Almost apologetic. Even shamefaced. He had encountered their sort several times before and politeness was not something which Friedrich would ever have ascribed to Herr Dolfuss' thugs who were well known to be very free both with their fists and and with their booted feet. There was, he thought, no other way to describe it; these two were acting out a part.

But what part?

And, more importantly, why?

"Just who the devil are you?" Friedrich asked quietly.

But, the answer to his own question came in the form of another.

* * *

 **Outside Oktogen** **Underground station,** **Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933.**

The motor with the mud splattered, maroon painted bodywork looked decidedly familiar.

A moment later, for Tibor realisation dawned: it was one of the vehicles that had roared past him and which, in one sense, had been the beginning of this whole business. To Mary's amazement the driver was a young woman who clambered out, rushed over to where Tibor was standing, threw her arms around his neck, and smothered his face with kisses.

"Tibi darling!"

"Ili!"

Tibor turned to Mary, smiled ruefully, and raised his eyes heavenwards.

"Ilona, my little sister," he explained shamefaced. "Ilona, may I present Lady Grantham ... all the way from England".

Mary smiled. She judged Tibor's _little sister_ to be in her late twenties. Dark haired and evidently as vivacious and outgoing as her brother.

Ilona pulled a face, reminding Mary instant of Saiorse.

" _Little sister_ , indeed! _Little brother_ more like. After all, I'm nearly four years older than you!"

"Even if you don't behave so!"

Ilona giggled; promptly stuck out her tongue. Yet another reminder of Saiorse. Then, suddenly, Ili became contrite; smiled sweetly at Mary, taking hold of her outstretched hand.

"I'm so very delighted to make your acquaintance! I do so adore the English. We all do. Have you known Tibi long?"  
" **Long**? Why, no. In fact, we've only just met".

"Oh!... I only wondered. Darling Tibi's forever taking lame ducks under his wing".

"Is he now?" Mary lofted a brow. She was not at all sure she liked the idea of being seen as one of _darling_ _Tibi's_ lame ducks.

Her brother nodded towards the Mercedes.

"That's Zoltan's, isn't it?"

Ilona nodded.

"Yes. Before you ask me, he said I could borrow it".

"That wasn't what I was going to ask you".

"What then?"

"Who was the other driver?"  
"What other driver?"  
"Ili! Don't play games!"

She looked down at the ground, seemingly unwilling to meet her brother's forthright gaze.

"Who do you think? György, of course".

" **György**? I see". Evidently, the name meant something to the two of them.

"No, you don't! Not yet".

"Oh?"  
"No! That bloody bastard's been seeing Iza! Behind my back! I told him what would happen if I found out! And I meant what I said!"

"Really?"  
"Yes, really".

"Well, even if György has being seeing Iza again that doesn't give you the right to go careering about Budapest like a mad thing! Just look at all these people! What if you'd lost control of the motor? Had an accident?"

"Well, I didn't, did I?" Ilona turned back to Mary and again smiled sweetly.

"I'm sorry! What ever must you think of me? Never mind, don't answer that!" Ilona laughed. "Tibi, darling, do say you forgive me! Please! I'll make it up to you! Promise!"

"Yes, you will. Be sure of that. And I know just how!"

Ilona looked questioningly at her brother.

"Do you now?"  
"Yes, I do".

Having signalled to Sergeant Lengyel that he should join them, Tibor explained what it was he wanted done; nodded in the direction of three men wearing the uniform of the Royal Gendarmerie.

"And if they make a fuss about it, tell them to report here to me!" he snapped. Sergeant Lengyel smiled.

"Yes, sir!" He saluted briskly and went off at the double.

Turning back to Ilona, Tibor rested his hands lightly on Ili's shoulders. "As for you, young lady, in order to make amends, this is what I want you to do ..."

* * *

 **The Old Tower, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

It was just as Simon was about to try and jump across the break in the stairs that some sixth sense stopped him doing so. It was well that it did, for only now did he realise that with Bobby crouching beside Danny's slumped form, pleading with him to wake up, there was no room there for Simon as well.

"Bobby! You're in the way!" yelled Simon **.** Bobby looked up; nodded his head and moved several steps down from Danny.

Rob looked up at his brother.

"Si! When you jump, throw yourself against the wall. Hug it. That way you won't lose your balance".

Simon smiled.

"Thanks!"

A moment later, Simon jumped hard for the other side of the break. All would have been well had it not been for the fact that at that very moment Danny, who had hit his head against the wall, regained consciousness and let out a loud groan. Forgetting why he had moved away from the gap, Bobby climbed back up the stairs, directly athwart Simon's path.

"Simon! Look out!" yelled Rob.

But it was too late.

The two boys collided on the stairs, the impact knocking Simon off balance, and pitching him over the edge.

* * *

 **Westbahnhof, Vienna, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

"If you think it will serve," said Friedrich, beginning loudly to protest his arrest as he was prodded and pushed, far from gently, away from the express, back along the length of the platform in the direction of the station building.

* * *

 **Somewhere on Andrássy út, Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933.**

"Mr. Branson, is it?"

Tom looked up to see beside him a powerful maroon painted Mercedes Benz. A 720 SSK if he was not much mistaken. The driver was a dark haired young woman with a dazzling smile. Tom wasn't at all sure which of the two he found the more attractive.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Jump in!" The woman patted the empty seat beside her.

"I t'ink there must be some mistake, for sure".

"You're not English, then?"  
"No, t'ank God! Irish".

"Is there a difference?"

Tom winced. Matthew would have laughed uproariously at that!

"A great deal, for sure!"

"But you are Lady Grantham's brother-in-law?"

"For sure!"

"Then there's no mistake. Oh, do be an angel and climb in!"

Tom smiled.

Quite what Sybil would have made of it had she been here to witness her handsome husband climbing into the passenger seat of a powerful cabriolet driven by a pretty young girl who likened him to an angel, Tom didn't like to think.

* * *

 **The Old Tower, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

"Simon!" yelled Robert.

As he pitched over the edge of the stair, in a last despairing throw of the dice, Simon flung up his arms, grabbed desperately for what yet remained of the handrail. By some miracle he managed to catch hold of it. Then, for one, brief, sickening moment, he hung there, suspended, high above the void before, helped by Bobby, Simon pulled himself painfully back up onto the steps. A moment later, Robert had joined the other three on the same side of the breach. Then, with Rob supporting Danny who seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness, and Bobby aiding Simon who had wrenched his left shoulder badly when he had made a grab for the handrail, all four of them began a slow descent of the rest of the stairs.

* * *

 **Outside Oktogen** **Underground station,** **Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933.**

Tibor smiled.

"Ah, at last" he said. "Are these your two missing gentlemen?"

Mary followed his gaze to see Matthew walking towards her, escorted by the three uniformed men she had glimpsed earlier. A moment later, driven by Ilona, with Tom beside her in the passenger seat, the maroon Mercedes roared to a stand.

"Matthew! Tom! Oh, thank God!"

* * *

With introductions now properly made and grateful thanks extended to Tibor for the part he had played in reuniting Mary with both Matthew and Tom, they were all about to go their separate ways when Tibor suggested that, after they had dinner at their hotel, he would deem it a singular honour if he was permitted to extend to them a measure of Hungarian hospitality and show them something of the glamour of Budapest after dark. Given that they had to catch the afternoon express to Gyula, Matthew, Mary and Tom were minded to decline, albeit graciously. However, with Tibor looking utterly crestfallen, promising faithfully that he would have them back at their hotel before midnight, they relented.

Thereafter, Tibor trotted away at the head of his troop, Ilona drove off to try and make amends with György, and Matthew, Mary, and Tom resumed their interrupted afternoon stroll, taking the Underground as far as Heroes' Square to view the magnificent Millenium Monument, a soaring column topped by a statue of the Archangel Gabriel with, clustered around its base, a group of other bronze statues, these representing the Seven Chieftains of the Magyars.

The trip on the Underground, both to and from Oktogen, proved almost uneventful save for when Mary was jostled as they were standing waiting on the platform to make their return. She said it had been deliberate. Matthew disagreed; citing the press of people. In any event, the moment passed, and even Mary had to agree that the detour to see _the monument,_ as she termed, it had been worthwhile.

* * *

 **The Old Tower, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

Sheltering in the lee of the tower, Danny lying prostrate, his head cradled in Rob's lap, and with Simon sitting resting with his back against the masonry of the tower, nursing his injured shoulder, Rob and Bobby held a Council of War. There was no alternative; one of them would have to go back to Rosenberg for help.

* * *

 **Arizona Nightclub,** **Nagymező** **út** **, Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933**.

Were it at all possible, Mary's jaw would have dropped right through the floor of the Mercedes.

" **Here**?" she asked; completely disbelieving of the sight which now greeted all of them.

Grinning from ear to ear, Tibor nodded.

"Exactly so. Here".

Shortly after nine o'clock, having collected the three of them from the Hotel Britannia, Tibor now brought the motor to a stand alongside the pavement outside a tall building, the sumptuous entrance of which, beneath an ornate be-flagged balcony, bore in a semicircle, huge, electrically illuminated letters several feet high announcing, to one and all, the name of the premises:-

 **ARIZONA**

Leaping from the driver's seat, Tibor knelt down on one knee, spread his hands expansively, smiling broadly.

"Welcome, to the Arizona, Budapest's finest nightclub".

"Oh, Tibi, don't be such an utter ass!" laughed Ilona as she was helped out of the second of the two motors by the errant György, followed in turn by Sarika, Tibor's other sister, and her husband Pal, who together made up the rest of their small party.

"Well, it's not exactly The Grantham Arms," observed Matthew in a mastery of English understatement.

"For sure!" exclaimed Tom.

"Just wait till you see inside, darling. It's absolutely divine!" giggled Ilona.

* * *

She was right.

With its enormous ostrich feather fans, a highly waxed, revolving dance floor, and several tiers of circular booths, all of which rose and descended at the press of a button, each of them furnished with an array of plush velvet seats and small tables, Matthew, Mary, and Tom had never seen anything quite like the interior of the Arizona.

Playing the perfect host, Tibor ordered them all champagne. Thereafter, they sat and chatted, the atmosphere soon becoming very convivial until that was, Mary let out a sudden scream, causing those seated in the adjacent booths to look about them in alarm. The cause of her distress - a tame fox belonging to the club's owners - disgruntled that his company was not wanted, promptly jumped down off from Mary's lap and trotted away to seek titbits from those patrons who were more appreciative of his presence.

After all had taken several turns on the dance floor, Tom and Ilona having executed a tango which drew more than just a ripple of applause, now, while they were sitting watching a troupe of acrobats performing their routine, there came a fanfare of trumpets.

"It can't be!" exclaimed Mary; while at the same time Matthew and Tom exchanged bemused looks.

"It damned well is!" laughed Matthew.

"Jaysus! It's a feckin' elephant! What the children would make of this, for sure!"

* * *

Just before midnight, which was far too early for most of the Arizona's clientele, the club staying open long after other such venues in Budapest had closed for the night, all eight of them spilled out onto the pavement.

"I've a suggestion to make," said Tibor.

"Which is?" asked Mary.  
"While we were dancing, when I described the view of Pest from the other side of the river, you said you would like to see it".

"Yes, I did".

"Well, your wish is my command!"

"I don't see how".

Tibor smiled.

"We could take a run across the bridge in the motor up to the castle and take in the view from the Fisherman's Bastion. Then straight back down to the Britannia. In all, about half an hour or so. What do you say?"

"Well, I don't think ..."

"Of course Pal and Sarika would accompany us, so everything would be quite proper".

"Do you mind, darling?"

Matthew smiled.

"If you want to, no, of course not".

A moment later, with Tibor behind the steering wheel, Mary seated beside him, and with Pal and Sarika sitting together on the back seat, the motor roared away in the direction of the Chain Bridge.

"Don't worry," laughed Ilona slipping her arm through Matthew's as he watched the Mercedes drive off into the night, "Tibi's a very good driver".

"I don't doubt that he is," said Matthew dryly.

* * *

 **The Old Tower, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

The others were depending on him. That thought alone spurred Bobby on as he ran downwards through the forest, back towards the house, lying some two miles distant.

Beneath the silent, dripping firs, the ground shrouded in a dense mat of pine needles, Bobby found himself prey to all kinds of unpleasant imaginings. With not even the faintest of breezes to stir the pine scented air, here among the dark trees, it was stiflingly hot. More than once, Bobby had the feeling that unfriendly eyes were watching him from behind the trunks of the tall trees. Not that he stopped, even for a single instant, nor so much as turned his head, fearful if he did what manner of horrors he might see.

In front of him, a low hanging branch barred his path, rain sodden leaves trailed across his face, and a bramble whipped against his cheek drawing blood so that he failed to see the exposed roots of the pine; sprawled headlong into the dampness of the earth. For a moment he lay winded before, having picked himself up, he set off again, running on through the veil of softly falling rain.

* * *

 **Hotel Britannia, Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933.**

Having been dropped off at their hotel by Ilona and György who then headed back down to the Arizona, having tried before dinner to put a call through to Rosenberg but without success - the operator said there must be a fault with the line - Tom decided he would leave it until the morning, before they caught the afternoon express to Gyula.

Awaiting Mary's return, having ordered a couple of snifters in the bar, seated comfortably in two armchairs, Matthew and Tom sat sipping their whiskies. As they did so, Tom found his thoughts drifting back to a long gone evening at Crawley House: the night before Matthew and Mary's wedding, when with the two of them having quarrelled over Matthew's refusal to extricate dear old Robert from his latest financial disaster, their wedding on the morrow had hung in the balance. Having given voice to his concerns over who it was he thought he had seen in the coffee house - Matthew insisting that he must be mistaken - on looking up a short while later, Tom saw Matthew staring into space.

"Are you really sure?" he asked quietly.  
"About what?"

"Mary and Tibor".

Coming from Tom, Matthew recognised the question for what it was; genuine, brotherly concern.

"Perfectly," said Matthew eyeing his now empty glass.

"Fancy another?" Tom asked.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

The front door flew open.

"Bobby!"

"Ma!"

Watched by Edith, beside herself with worry over Friedrich not having been on the evening express, and with the telephone here at Rosenberg out of order having no way of making enquiries of friends in Vienna who might know what had become of him, Sybil went down on her knees on the flagstones of the hall.

"Bobby, darling, what on earth is it? Where are the others?"

"Oh, Ma!" he wailed, launching himself into his mother's outstretched arms.

* * *

 **Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933.**

Whether it was being in a foreign capital, in the company of a handsome, dark haired stranger, or else perhaps had something to do with the exotic strangeness of the whole evening, sitting beside Tibor, with the wind in her hair, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright, Mary found the whirling ride in the Mercedes, down across the Chain Bridge, exhilarating. Never for a moment did Tibor once slacken speed, managing to weave a course between a succession of brightly lit trams as well as a host of motors, before, having crossed the Danube, climbing up the steep hill that was the Vár.

* * *

 **The Old Tower, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

By the time the rescue party from Rosenberg came in sight of the old tower, daylight was fading. Wearing a pair of serviceable breeches and boots hastily borrowed from Edith, and having ridden a horse for the first time in very many years, Sybil was the first to dismount.

* * *

 **Fisherman's Bastion, Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933.**

Here below the vast bulk of the Royal Palace, beside the splendid mounted statue of King Stephen and the many pinnacled Matthias Church with its ornate, polychromatic tiled roof, glancing behind her to see that Pal and Sarika were still following them - they were, but at a discrete distance having paused seemingly to look at something - chatting of this and that, matters mostly inconsequential, Tibor letting slip in passing that he knew of Manfred and Eva's estate at Rózsafa, arm in arm, Mary and Tibor walked on across the flagstones, towards an arched, many turreted edifice which, Tibor explained, was called the Fisherman's Bastion.

* * *

"Tibor, this has been the most wonderful of evenings. One I will never forget and for which I thank you but we know, don't we, that nothing can come of this. For one thing I'm married. I've three children. I'm expecting another". Normally Mary would never have drawn attention to her condition, disliking intensely discussing medical matters, especially something as intimate as being _enceinte._ Here Mary permitted herself the briefest of smiles. "And besides, I am somewhat older than you!"

"What's any of that matter?"

"It matters!"

"Does it?" asked Tibor.

"Doesn't it?"

"No. Not to me".

This was dangerous ground.

"I think we should go and find the others". Yet despite what she had said, Mary made no attempt to move from where they were standing, a hair breadth's apart.

With each lost in their own thoughts, their conversation became desultory, then languished altogether. Side by side, leaning on the balustrade, they watched in silence as the moon rose, while across the broad waters of the Danube, on the far side of the Chain Bridge, the bright lights of Pest twinkled like fireflies in the summer's darkness.

When at length, Tibor suggested that he should run her back to the hotel, Mary reached out and took him by the hand. Murmuring to her words she neither knew nor understood, their import was all too clear, and, a moment later, when Tibor took her in his arms, it would have been hard to say which of them was the seducer and which the seduced.

 **Author's Note:**

 _unflappable as Beach_ \- a reference to Sebastian Beach, a fictional character created by P. G. Wodehouse and who is the long serving butler at Blandings castle, the seat of Lord Emsworth.

During the 1920s and '30s most of the Hungarian nobility not only spoke English but spoke it well.

Opened in 1931, for a brief period, the Arizona became Budapest's most famous nightclub. While it may seem unbelievable, and would these days be considered cruel and unacceptable, its owners had an arrangement with the capital's zoo whereby they were"loaned" a variety of animals - horses, monkeys and even elephants - to perform in some of its floor shows. The dance floor really did revolve and the private booths went up and down as described. The pet fox was quite a fixture, wandering at will around among the tables. Sadly, the Arizona did not survive the German occupation of the city in WWII, with its owner, Sándor Rozanyai, a Jew, being deported to a forced labour camp in 1944.

Built 1895-1902, the present Fisherman's Bastion has one of the best panoramic views in Budapest.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

A Matter Of Honour

 **Hotel Britannia, Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933.**

"Ah! At last".

On hearing Matthew's voice, Tom looked up from a contented contemplation of his latest glass of whiskey. That a hotel bar here in far distant Budapest stocked not one but several Irish malts - of which, so far, he had sampled an uneven three - had come as an exceedingly pleasant surprise. He now saw Mary and Tibor walking briskly towards them across the floor of the lobby of the hotel whereupon Matthew and Tom rose to their feet.

"Well, here the two of you are! I must say, old chap, it's dashed bad form, you know".

Tom eyed Matthew curiously. Wondered if it had something to do with the whiskey. Else, what on earth was he playing at? And why, the put-on, exaggerated, upper class, English accent which made Matthew sound like the foppish Sir Percy Blakeney when no two men could have been more dissimilar.

"What is?" asked Tibor, clearly equally mystified.

"Whisking a chap's wife off into the night in a motor from under his very nose, then canoodling with her beneath the stars until dawn ..."

Mary and Tibor looked helplessly at each other. Matthew had said that they might ... Surely he did not suspect that anything had passed between them. Or did he?

Dawn? Tom glanced at his wristwatch which showed it was but a minute or so before one. As if to reinforce the fact, the clock in the bar chimed the hour.

"Canoodl ... I don't quite understand".

Excellent though his English was, Tibor was clearly unfamiliar with the word _canoodling_.

"Whispering sweet bally nothings in her ear ..."  
"Matthew, I assure you ..." began Mary.

"Mr. Branson here will be my second".

"What?" Tom sounded horrified.

"Your second? You mean that you are challenging me to a duel?" Tibor sounded equally aghast, as well he might.

Matthew nodded.

"I had assumed my meaning to be perfectly clear. But, if it was not, then indeed I am. This is a matter of honour. Here in Hungary I believe such matters are settled by the use of sabres, although I should tell you that I am no swordsman. Nonetheless, I believe the choice of weapons falls to you. Is that not correct, Mr. Branson?"

Tom shook his head in disbelief. He prided himself on being well informed on a whole host of matters: politics, history, the fraught relations between Great Britain and Ireland, as well as other things too, along with all manner of minutiae, most of which was of no consequence to man nor beast. But, despite the fact that it had been a committee of Irishmen who, late in the eighteenth century, had drawn up the _Code Duello_ , neither duelling nor the rigid etiquette which surrounded it, were things with which Tom was familiar. In any case, apart from being illegal, as far as he was concerned, Tom had always thought the whole business to be utterly ridiculous, downright dangerous, and with there being the potential of a decidedly fatal outcome for the loser.

* * *

 **Somewhere outside Vienna, Western Railway, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

In the cloying darkness of the narrow bore of the tunnel, the door to Friedrich's compartment slid open, any attendant noise masked by the thunderous roar from the speeding express, as indeed was the succession of half a dozen pistol shots which now followed. The figure seated in the corner slumped noiselessly to the floor.

* * *

A short while later, when the express stopped unexpectedly, somewhere near Eichgraben, at the rear of the train, two men in the uniform of the Vaterländische Front clambered down from the last coach and disappeared into the rain soaked darkness.

* * *

 **The Old Tower, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

The rain had stopped a while ago, but even so the dark, mournful foliage of the pines dripped incessantly.

It was now, on hearing the guttural sound of men's voices, along with the clink of harness, the clip clopping of hooves, and the whinnying of horses, that Rob looked up; breathed a genuine, heartfelt sigh of relief as he saw, emerging from the circle of the shrouding trees, a dozen or so riders.

"Oh, thank God!"

A moment later and the small troop of horsemen had reined into a stand before him on the wet grass in front of the old tower. To his utter amazement, it was with a distinct sense of shock that Rob realised the leader of the cavalcade, wearing a green slouch hat which sported a red feather, a white shirt, brown breeches, and boots was none other than his much loved Aunt Sybil. A moment later, she had slipped lithely from her horse and was kneeling beside him on the short cropped grass. A man who Rob did not know now joined her.

"Aunt Sybil! So Bobby made it back to Rosenberg then?"

"Yes, darling, he did. This is the local doctor. Now, what happened, exactly?" she asked as with the eye of a trained nurse she swiftly took in Danny lying with his bloodied head pillowed in Rob's lap and Simon cradling his left arm sitting on the ground with his back resting against the masonry of the old tower. As far as Sybil could tell, save for the injury to his head, darling Danny looked to be otherwise uninjured. At this, Sybil herself now breathed a sigh of relief. From what Bobby had told her back at the house, she had very much been fearing the worst. However, before Rob could reply, once again, Danny opened his eyes. Even so, while he did his very utmost to try and concentrate, maddeningly, the man and the woman kneeling beside him continued swimming in and out of focus. This being so, Danny tried instead to sit up but found the effort was simply too much for him and sank wearily back against Rob's body.

"Don't try and move, darling".

"Ma! Is ... is that really you?" croaked Danny.

"Yes, darling, it's me". Sybil reached forward; brushed back his dark hair. Like Tom's, it was forever falling forward over his forehead.

* * *

Gently feeling the boy's bloodied head, probing the matted hair softly with his fingers, the doctor nodded and, after a few moments of further deliberation, pronounced himself satisfied.

"As far as I can tell, the skull is completely intact. No broken bones. But a severe concussion, of that almost certainly". Indicating that Sybil should unbutton Danny's sleeve, while she did so, the doctor rummaged deep in his bag; drew out a syringe and a small bottle of colourless fluid which Sybil recognised as morphine. "Once I've given him this, clean and bandage his head. Now, young man, this will make you more comfortable". While Sybil did as she had been instructed, the doctor rose from his knees and went over to attend to Simon's injured arm.

* * *

"The left arm is severely strained but fortunately not dislocated. Now, if you would be so good as to prepare a sling". Again, Sybil set to work. Meanwhile, with the old tower being remote, as well as completely inaccessible by motor, under the watchful eyes of the doctor, two of the workers from the estate began making an improvised, makeshift stretcher out of a couple of stout pine branches and a pair of woollen blankets in which to carry Danny down through the woods to the horse-drawn wagon waiting below on the cart track which came closest to the old tower.

* * *

With Danny having been lifted carefully onto the stretcher and Simon being helped by Robert all the while clutching Oscar tightly to him in his right hand, the little bear's left paw having being bandaged expertly by Sybil in emulation of Simon's own injured arm, the cavalcade set off back down through the dark, silent woods to a rendezvous with the waiting cart.

* * *

 **Café Jakob, Vienna, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

Looking out of the window of the café, Friedrich saw that it had begun to grow dark.

"I hope you don't mind," the younger man said, almost apologetically. He indicated their immediate surroundings. "It was ... necessary".

Here, in a back street close to the great bulk of the Westbahnhof, Friedrich glanced slowly round the interior of the grimy café; took in the faded wallpaper, the shabby furnishings, the cracked, chipped china, and the equally seedy clientele, for the most part artisans and railway workers, along with a smattering who appeared to comprise the very dregs of society, sweepings from off the streets of the capital, as well as even down and outs and vagrants.

"Not at all. It ... it reminds me of my youth!" Friedrich laughed. "Besides, I've seen far worse, in fact much worse, both in Damascus and Baghdad!"

The two men nodded.

"We must apologise for the ... er ... circumstances of our ... meeting there ... at the station".

Friedrich smiled.

"Circumstances? Meeting? Is that how you would describe them!" He laughed softly. "But I trust my ... performance ... back there was satisfactory?" Friedrich jabbed a thumb in the direction of the Westbahnhof.  
"Perfectly".

"A real tour de force. Worthy of a run at the Volkstheater!" The older of the two men smiled then leant forward.

"The Jüdische Selbstwehr," he said quietly.

"You will have heard of that, I think?" asked the other.

"Yes, of course". Friedrich knew it to be the name of a shadowy, underground organisation set up by the community in Leopoldstadt; the predominantly Jewish quarter here in Vienna to protect its inhabitants from the Hakenkreuzler, Nazi thugs wearing the swastika, who these days were openly attacking Jews in the streets. Given what had happened last year, when a prayer room in the Café Sperlhof had been attacked, Jews praying there beaten and the building wrecked, it was hardly surprising that some of the Jewish community in Vienna had decided to fight back.

"Well, then ..."

"But I don't see what it has to do with me".  
"Your wife ..."  
"What of her?"  
"...is a most excellent driver".

"Your son ... Max ... is a plucky little chap," put in the other.

"Shalom".

And with the utterance of that single word, for Friedrich, the fog of mystery began to lift as he found himself thinking back to a snowy night, to Christmas Eve 1931, when, quite unaccountably, Edith and young Max had failed to board the Salzburg Express.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, Christmas Eve, December 1931.**

The pallid yellow beams of a pair of headlights slicing through the ever falling flakes of snow, followed swiftly by the sound of a motor drawing to a stand on the white fast gravel at the front of the house brought Friedrich hurrying back to the window, just in time to see Weisman open the door of the motor and stepping down from inside, Edith, followed in turn by darling Max.

He saw Edith scorn Feist's hasty offer of an umbrella. Saw her instead point towards the house, presumably telling the elderly butler that he should hurry back inside. Now saw his wife and son scurrying up the snow covered path towards the front door, followed by Weisman proceeding at a rather more sedate pace, laden down as he was with packages. At that, Friedrich had to smile; dear Edith - whatever the time of year, she never came back from Vienna without having made some kind of purchase; probably on account of the fact that when they were on an excavation out in the Near East, whether it be in Baghdad, Damascus or even Jerusalem, there was little to be bought.

With Feist having opened wide the front door, a blast of cold air and a flurry of snowflakes drove into the hall; followed in their wake by both Edith and Max, he with Fritz huddled in his arms.

"Lieblings, I was so very worried. You must be frozen through the both of you. Come in and get warm". With Max having set Fritz down on the floor, Friedrich pulled Edith and his son to him; held both of them in a tight embrace.

"I tried to telephone the house, from the station, but I couldn't ..."

"The line is down. The snow ... Friedrich ruffled Max's sandy hair. "As for you, young man, this being Christmas Eve, it's high time you were in bed and fast asleep. Now, upstairs with Frau Schmidt this instant!"

Having said good night to his parents and then to Fritz who Feist took below stairs, Max did as he was bidden. Accompanied by his governess, he set off up the shallow steps of the curving marble staircase but then, suddenly, he turned and ran back to the balustrade, from where he smiled happily down at his parents.

"Shalom," Max said simply.

* * *

 **Hotel Britannia, Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933.**

Ever since their marriage, down the years, it had often been the case that Mary found Matthew's sense of humour to be unpredictable and, at times, completely unfathomable. Tom was just the same. Two of a kind. As alike as peas in a pod. This being so, she ought to have realised that Matthew's unexpected outrage, which was completely out of character, was not at all what it purported to be. Indeed, far from it. A moment later, the corners of his mouth twitched and Matthew burst out laughing.

"Honestly! Your faces! I'll let you all into a secret. You too, Tom. Years ago, when I was up at Oxford, I joined the Dramatic Society and was considered something of a natural when it came to acting. I'm glad to see I haven't quite lost the touch!

"So that whole scene ... Oh, Matthew, really! You and your sense of humour!"

"Did you have a wonderful time, darling?"

"Why, yes, thank you. The view from the Palace was absolutely splendid! And Tibor was the perfect guide. Pal and Sarika were there too, of course ..."  
"Of course," echoed Matthew. "You have my thanks. And no offence intended by my er ... little ..." Matthew held out his hand to Tibor, the latter clearly relieved that all talk of a duel had been nothing more than an example of the bizarre English sense of humour which, to be frank, was just as much a mystery to Tibor as was their obsession with the weather.

"None taken, I assure you. It was a pleasure to show you around". Tibor smiled at Mary, caught hold of her right hand and raised it to his lips. Their eyes met.

"Likewise," said Mary.

Tibor smiled again.

"Well then, Pal and Sarika are waiting outside in the motor ..."

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

By the time they all reached Rosenberg, it was quite dark; the house itself was a blaze of light, radiating warmth into the blackness of the night, with Edith, Max, Saiorse, and Bobby, all standing outside on the front step to meet Sybil and the other returning members of the rescue party.

With Edith having thanked the workers from the estate for the part they had played in bringing the matter to a successful resolution, Danny having been stretchered within and along with Simon taken directly upstairs, Dr. Berger promising to return in the morning to look in on both of the injured boys, and everyone else now inside, Feist closed the front door.

However, with the telephone not working, of Friedrich's whereabouts there was, as yet, still no word.

None whatsoever.

And, with every hour that passed, Edith knew that the chances of there being an equally successful conclusion to this matter were growing increasingly slim.

* * *

 **Hotel Britannia, Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933.**

As Mary disappeared upstairs to their suite, setting down his half empty glass of whiskey, Matthew turned to Tom.

"By the way, that note I received earlier tonight?"

"Yes?"

The note had been awaiting Matthew at the front desk of the hotel when he and Tom had been dropped off back at the Britannia by Ilona and the others. At the time, other than briefly scanning its contents and then stuffing the envelope deep into his pocket, Matthew had made no comment about whom it was from, nor what it contained.

"It was from the British Ambassador".

Tom could not conceal his astonishment and let out a whistle of surprise.

"My! You do move in exalted circles, for sure".

Matthew smiled.

"Perhaps. But, rather like you, with me, titles themselves count for nothing. Be that as it may, we are meeting with him at the Legation tomorrow morning".

"Why? Whatever for?"

"He didn't say".

"Surely he must have given you some idea".

"None whatsoever, so as to what all this is about, your guess is as good as mine".

"Do you know him?"

"Oh yes, Chilston is an old friend".

Tom nodded. That, he supposed, was only to be expected. After all, as Deputy Editor of the Irish Independent, his own contacts were both many and varied. And it was the same with Matthew who, despite the fact that he had become a peer of the realm following Robert's death in 1931, numbered among his associates some who, were their identities to become widely known, would doubtless have raised eyebrows in some quarters of the British Establishment.

"And one thing more ..."  
"Which is?"  
"Not a word to Mary about any of this, until we see how the land lies".

* * *

 **Café Jakob, Vienna, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

"You then, I presume, are Aaronovitch?"  
"No, his cousin, Jacob Goldstein. And this is my friend Abner Landauer".

"But I'm not a Jew. Why risk your lives for me?"

"Your reputation proceeds you, Herr Schönborn. That, and the fact that you and your wife are known to be well disposed ... especially after what Frau Schönborn did for my cousin and his friends. So, let's just say one good turn deserves another".

"Then, thank you".

Goldstein grew serious again.

"Two members of the Vaterländische Front, bona fide, not the ersatz variety like us, were waiting for you on board the express. That being so, I doubt very much if you would ever have reached home alive".

"I see. But how on earth did your organisation know that an attempt would be made on my life, let alone about the threat to my brothers-in-law?"

Landauer smiled.

"These days, we Jews must keep our ears to the ground".

"And the man in my compartment?"

"Abner, here, is very creative. Nothing more than a mannequin from a tailor's shop in Leopoldstadt. But in the darkness - we'd taken the liberty of removing the light bulb - it served our purposes well enough".

Friedrich nodded.

"You have my earnest, heartfelt thanks. The both of you".

Goldstein coloured, clearly embarrassed.

"Think nothing of it. Now, it just happens that the Selbstwehr have matters that demand their attention in Linz. So, Abner and I will travel with you as far as ... St. Johann ... to see that no harm comes to you. Thereafter you're on your own".  
"You are very well informed".

"We make it our business to be. After all, in the present circumstances ..." Landauer spread his hands expressively.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

With all the children long since in bed and both Danny and Simon sleeping soundly, Edith and Sybil were sitting side by side on the sofa in the Drawing Room.

"Darling, I'm sure Friedrich's come to no harm," soothed Sybil.

"Then where can he possibly ..."

At that moment the door of the Drawing Room was flung wide open, the man himself strode into the room, and for the very first time in her life, Edith knew what it was to feel weak at the knees; standing up and promptly sitting down again both in the space of a few seconds. A moment later and she was in her husband's arms.

"Friedrich, darling! Oh, thank God! What happened? Did you miss the express? Where have you been?"

"There's no time to tell you about that now. All I will say is that I'm here at all is in no small measure thanks to your Jewish friends in Leopoldstadt".  
"My Jewish friends in ..." began Edith.

Friedrich nodded.  
"That group of young Jews you helped ... Christmas Eve of '31. Tell me, have you heard from Matthew or Tom tonight?" he asked brusquely.

"Tonight? Well, no. There seems to be some problem with the telephone".

"Oh?"

"Yes. Shortly after Weisman called Kleist from the station to inform him that you weren't on the express, the line went dead".

"Then that would explain why I couldn't get through either".

"You tried to call?"  
"Yes. From St. Johann, when finally I reached there. Hell and damnation!

"Darling, what on earth is it?"

Friedrich eyed his wife and sister-in-law.

"There's no easy way to tell you both this but ..."

* * *

 **Hotel Britannia, Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933, the following morning.**

Alone in their suite, Mary picked up the receiver.

"Yes? Indeed. Lady Grantham speaking. Put him through".

"Mary?"

"Tibor!"

"Kedvesem! Do you know what that means?"

"Yes, I asked the chambermaid. It means "My darling".

"Well then, kedvesem, I must see you".

"Tibor, no. We promised each other, that what happened between us last night must never ever ..."

"Mary, please ..."

"There really isn't any ... Our train leaves at two".

"Yes, I know".

"You do?"  
"You told me, remember?"

"Yes ... No ... Did I? In any case, Matthew and Tom ... they could return here at any minute".

"That I doubt".

"Oh, and just why is that?"

"Because at this precise moment, they're meeting with the British ambassador".

"The British ambassador? Are you certain?"  
"Of course. And, likely to be there for some time".

"Really?"  
"Yes, really".

"I see". The silence lengthened.

"Mary? Are you still there?"  
"Yes. Matthew told me he and Tom were going out for a stroll".

"Kedvesem, please, I must see you".

* * *

 **British Legation, Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933.**

Whilst the Irish Free State was exactly that, and had been so ever since the signing of the Anglo-Irish Treaty back in 1922, in practice the country was still ruled over by His Majesty George V, by the Grace of God, of Great Britain, Ireland and the British Dominions beyond the Seas, King, Defender of the Faith, Emperor of India. And, for this reason, sitting beside Matthew, beneath full length portraits set in heavily gilded frames of both King George and Queen Mary, in the presence of Viscount Chilston, the British Government's Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary to the Kingdom of Hungary, Tom felt distinctly uncomfortable, let alone with what it was the ambassador had just related.

Yet worse was to come.

"And moreover, what I have to impress upon the both of you most of all is that should you run into difficulties, there is nothing, I repeat nothing, that the Government of His Britannic Majesty can do, or will do, to help you".

* * *

 **Úri utca, Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933.**

Tibor's family's home stood on the Uri ut, in the very heart of Budapest's castle quarter. Leading down from the Royal Palace towards the river, it was a winding street, flanked on both sides by ancient, elegant buildings, some bearing carved coats-of-arms, and which, according to Tibor, were known as palaces but in practice were no more than townhouses. These days many of them were fast crumbling into ruin or else let out, their noble owners no longer having the money to maintain them as had once been the case.

Had Tibor also told Mary that where they were now was but a spit in the wind from the British Legation, then she might not have agreed to meeting him here, as opposed to his original suggestion of a military riding school on the edge of town.

* * *

 **Royal Palace, Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933.**

From an upper window of the Palace, the Regent stood looking down; watching dispassionately as, with the plumes on their shakos nodding jauntily, the troop of hussars clattered out of the Inner Courtyard. Then, once the very last of the cavalcade had disappeared from his view, abruptly, the Regent swung about on his heel to face the man standing behind him.

"Does Captain Csáky know any of this?" he asked curtly.

Fergal shook his head.

"No, Your Highness, he does not. At least, not yet. But he will".

"Indeed," observed Horthy dryly.

Fergal smiled thinly.

"After all, we can't have everyone knowing everything now, can we?"

* * *

 **Outside the British Legation, Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933.**

Their meeting with the ambassador had ended somewhat earlier than expected.

"Do you think Chilston was exaggerating, for sure?" asked Tom as he and Matthew were about to climb into the cab which was waiting to take them back to their hotel.

"I don't think the Foreign Office goes in for exaggeration". Matthew paused. "Hullo, isn't that the motor Tibor was driving last night?" Matthew pointed to where a mud splattered, maroon painted Mercedes stood parked beside the kerb. "You know I still feel a bit bad about that business at the hotel".

"For sure".

"Well there's a rum thing".

"What is?"  
"Listen".

From somewhere on the other side of the street there came the sound of music; clearly from a gramophone.

" _Yes Sir - That's My Baby_. That's still a favourite of Mary's ... we danced to it in Monte Carlo ... back in '26".

Tom nodded.

That long gone trip to the French Riviera, which Matthew and Mary had taken in the autumn of 1926 in the aftermath of the General Strike, had been one of a handful of occasions when he and Matthew had been at loggerheads. Tom had pointed out, he thought with good reason, that at a time when many Yorkshire miners were unemployed while those who still had jobs had been forced to accept longer hours, lower wages, and district wage agreements, for the heir to the Earldom of Grantham, who purported to be a champion of the common man, to go swanning off to the south of France was the height of stupidity; it would make the Crawleys appear both heartless and uncaring.

* * *

 **Billiards Room, Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, summer 1926.**

"Jaysus! Don't yous see ..."

"Do you? I'm not heartless! Nor am I uncaring! I don't _purport_ to be anything! And I'm not _swanning off!_ " exploded Matthew, clearly stung by the accusation.

"Well, that's how it will look!" growled Tom.

"I don't give a damn' how it looks! Mary feels ..."

"Ah, for sure! _Mary feels_ and there's the rub!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

At that very moment, the door of the Billiards Room swung open. For Mary to have come in now would have spelt disaster. On seeing it was was Sybil, Tom breathed a silent, heartfelt prayer of relief. While he was angry, he knew only too well that if anything further was said, it would be that which should not be said. He didn't want to quarrel with Matthew. Not only was he his brother-in-law, he was his best friend.

Tom shook his head; let the matter pass.

Having closed the door firmly behind her, Sybil looked from one face to the other.

"The children want to say goodnight ... to both of you," she said softly.

* * *

A fortnight later, Matthew and Mary had caught the Calais-Méditerrannée Express, south to Nice.

* * *

 **Outside the British Legation, Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933.**

Before Tom realised what Matthew was about, leaving the taxi with its engine running, he had crossed the narrow street and rapped smartly on the door of the house which above bore, carved in stone, a shield emblazoned with the heraldic arms of the Csákys.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Sir Percy Blakeney, a fictional English aristocrat, the creation of Baroness Orczy (1865-1947) and who, in the guise of the mysterious Scarlet Pimpernel, rescues aristocrats from the guillotine during the French Revolution, Sir Percy hiding his alter ego's identity under the air of being a fop.

The _Code Duello_ was drawn up in 1777, and thereafter adopted widely both in Europe and in America, until the practice of duelling was made illegal.

For what happened to Edith and Max in Leopoldstadt, see _The Snow Waltz_.

Badly damaged during WWII, and subsequently restored, Úri utca is one of the oldest streets in Budapest.

 _Yes Sir - That's My Baby_ written by Walter Donaldson with lyrics by Gus Kahn and first recorded in 1925.

The General Strike, which lasted for nine days in May 1926, was a futile attempt by the Trades Union Congress to force the British government to stop a cut in wages and worsening working conditions for over a million locked-out coal miners.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Of Plots And Crowns

 **Uri utca, Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933.**

"Oh, Tibor, please! For heaven's sake, stop! I haven't laughed this much in ages!"

Tibor grinned.

He had been telling Mary about a house party, held just before the war. Of course, given the fact that he had been scarce six years old at the time, the fact serving to remind Mary, if not Tibor himself, of the difference in their ages, his memories were somewhat hazy. Nonetheless, one incident, involving his late brother, András, was as fresh in Tibor's mind as if it had happened yesterday, instead of what now seemed a lifetime ago.

"Why ever not? No, don't answer that! It was grossly unfair of me". Tibor smiled and, while Mary sipped her champagne, carried on with the tale he was recounting.

"So, picture if you will the scene. The vast emptiness of the Alföld and my dear brother András, trying to impress everyone at Tarnaméra with his riding skills. Charging across the meadow below the house as if he was riding with the Light Brigade at Balaclava. Forgetting completely, of course, that the meadow was riddled with rabbit holes. Well you can guess what the result was! Over he went. Right in front of Papa and Mama. All of us. And everybody else too. He did an absolutely perfect somersault!"

"Was he badly hurt?" asked Mary.  
"No, thank God!"

"But from what you just said, I thought he must have been".

"Oh, you mean **András**?"  
"Well, yes. Don't you?"

"No, darling, I was talking about Achilles. He might have broken a leg".

"Achilles?"  
"The horse András was riding. Papa's prize chestnut. Sixteen hands. Thankfully, not a ruddy scratch on him".

"Oh, I see. And your brother?"  
"Daft bugger! The fall laid him up for several weeks with a badly sprained back. Papa was bloody furious!"

"Furious? Why on earth was he furious?"  
"Well, what I haven't told you is that András had taken Achilles from the stables without Papa's permission. So there you have it! More champagne?"

"Tibor, I really don't think I ..."  
"Where's the harm?"

"Very well then ..."

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933, the previous evening.**

"But what?" asked Edith immediately alert; sensing instinctively that whatever it was Friedrich had to relate to them, it could not be good news. After all, he had not even enquired after the children. That it seemed would have to wait. At least for the present. Why was he so late? And what had that, any of it, to do with the group of young Jews she had helped in Leopoldstadt at Christmas some two years ago?

"Matthew, Mary, and Tom ... they're all in very grave danger ... of being arrested. If not worse. I blame myself for not realising that there was rather more to Manfred and Eva's invitation than first met the eye".

* * *

 **Uri utca, Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933, the following morning.**

For all that it was called a _palota_ , a palace, the townhouse on the Uri utca which had belonged to the Csákys for centuries was, as Tibor had said, not especially grand. Certainly not from the outside; save for the coat-of-arms over the entrance doorway, the flat fronted exterior was decidedly plain. Inside, a central hall led to the principal ground floor rooms, with a staircase to the second floor, while beyond the hall there was a paved courtyard.

Apart from the presence of a large, porcelain tiled stove, with the oil paintings, prints, and lithographs hanging from the walls, including views of the Csákys' lost estate at Serényi, the family photographs grouped together on the top of the grand piano, the pier mirror and window draperies, the Biedermeier furnishings in the English style, the bookcases, and the parquet flooring, the Drawing Room in which they were sitting reminded Mary very much of the one in Crawley House up in London. Of course, that property had long since been sold, now turned, apparently, into a third rate hotel. That was if the rumours, originating it seemed with The Honourable Kitty Ollerenshaw of Monkton Grange, Harrogate, were to be believed.

Considered by some in the county to be a beauty - although Mary had always thought her hair to be _touched up -_ Kitty, with claws to match her name, was someone Mary had never liked. This partly on account of the fact that Kitty's father had been in trade. In fact, to put it bluntly, _in fish_ ; Reginald Ollerenshaw having been, the owner of a large fleet of steam trawlers, sailing out of Kingston-upon-Hull until that was, having made his fortune, Reggie sold up and purchased the Monkton estate, thereafter having been created a Liberal peer back in 1911.

At a charity event held during the war at Crawley House, to raise funds with which to equip a motor ambulance for the front, a light hearted disagreement had arisen between Mary, Letitia Rushworth, and Angela Nettleton as to the filling of some fish paste sandwiches. Was it crab or was it lobster? Laughingly, Mary had suggested that perhaps they should ask the "fishmonger's daughter" - unfortunately within Kitty's hearing - which, unsurprisingly, did nothing to improve their frosty relationship. Then, several years later when, one afternoon, quite by chance, the two had encountered each other in Claridges, Kitty seemed to take particular delight in imparting to Mary the sad fate of Crawley House, which only served to reinforce Mary's original dislike of the woman.

Of course, it had been Matthew who, as part of his on-going crusade to make Downton pay its way so as to place the estate on a sound financial footing had insisted that Crawley House be sold; citing the fact that in the aftermath of the Great War many titled families had done just the same and sold their London residences. However, said Matthew, in the case of the Crawleys, the sale had to be hastened owing to years of financial mismanagement on the part of his father-in-law and Robert's father before him.

While Mary could remember little of her paternal grandfather, Matthew's assertion that darling Papa had been rather less than prudent in his stewardship of Downton she thought to be unfair as well as a distortion of the truth. In her view, it had not been Papa's fault. At least, not entirely. Had he not employed men like Jarvis and Murray - and there must have been others too - to advise him on matters appertaining to the successful running of the estate and for which they had received remuneration? That being so, then surely, they should shoulder part, if not the lion's share of the opprobrium which Matthew had heaped on Papa over his alleged mismanagement of Downton.

All this apart, to be perfectly frank, until Matthew and she were married, and thereafter he had sunk a considerable amount of the fortune he had inherited from Lavinia's late father into the estate, Mary had never once considered the possibility that Downton would not go on as it had always done. That the earl of Grantham, in the guise of Papa and his successors, would not continue to reside at Downton Abbey was unthinkable. After all, had not the Crawleys owned the Downton Abbey estate for centuries? This being so, Mary had seen no reason why this should ever change.

Hand in hand with this presumption that, after the war, the status quo would prevail there went, at least for Mary, the unshakeable belief that the elegant house parties, lavish dinners, magnificent balls, bracing shoots, and the thrilling hunts, curtailed for the duration of hostilities, would quickly return, and life would resume being lived just as it had been prior to August 1914.

So too, the heady, annual whirl of the London Season, which began just after Christmas and ended in mid summer, would also carry on, along with the glittering receptions held at Crawley House in Belgravia where Mary and her sisters had "come out" as debutantes before later having been presented at Court. That throughout the year there would once again be trips up to town to buy new clothes, as well as attending and being seen at the annual fixtures of Royal Ascot, Henley Regatta, Glorious Goodwood, and Cowes Week even if Papa was no sailor and kept his feet firmly on dry land. On occasions, the family would venture even further afield, perhaps abroad; whether crossing the Atlantic to America on board the _Mauretania_ or the _Olympic_ to meet with Mama's Levinson relatives or else by steamship and overnight express train to Biarritz or Nice.

But when the war finally ended, despite the long cherished expectation that things would return to how they had been before, it soon became abundantly clear that nothing would ever be quite the same again. True, the social round gradually resumed its pre-war rhythm but it was a shadow of what it had been. And, with the death of so many sons and heirs, most of them killed in action on the Western Front, landed estates throughout the country, many of which had been in the ownership of the same families for centuries, began to be put up for sale; including Willington Hall which bordered Downton to the north. As for those estates which, like Downton, did not fall beneath the auctioneer's gavel, if they were to survive at all, economies had to be made. So, at the abbey, inexorably, the size of the domestic staff began to be reduced; vacant positions were not advertised and servants who retired were not replaced, a state of affairs which threatened to give old Carson apoplexy, while for the family, trips up to town were infrequent and jaunts abroad rarer still.

* * *

Here in Hungary, along with the tragedy of losing both his father and elder brother while he was still just a boy, a similar fate had befallen Tibor's family with, as he had explained to Mary, owing to the dismemberment of the country, the family having lost possession of their estate at Serény which now lay across the border in Roumania. As for the house on Uri utca, with money in short supply, servants had been let go, while the building itself, like others in the same street, was slowly falling into disrepair with part let to an old friend of Tibor's late father; a widower, a retired general, who spent most of his time either going for long walks or else sitting reading English newspapers among the cafés on the quays which bordered the Danube.

* * *

"Your mother?" asked Mary.

"With Pal and Sarita, at their house down on Andrassy; that's close to where we were last night, at the _Arizona_ ".

"And Ilona?"

"Off somewhere arguing with György, I suppose".

"Entertaining a married woman, on her own, here in your family home, and you only suppose?" Mary raised an expressive eyebrow.

"But if what you're really asking me, is Ilona here? Then the answer to that is decidedly no. She isn't. So, save for the servants, we're quite alone". Tibor rose to his feet; stood looking down at Mary, as if making up his mind about something. Then, apparently having come to a decision about whatever it was he had been considering, he held out his hand.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933, the previous evening.**

"What do you mean, _in very grave danger_?" asked Edith, clearly incredulous.

"Arrested? Why? What on earth for?" cried Sybil, her nerves already worn raw from what had happened to both Danny and Simon, of which Friedrich was, as yet, blissfully unaware.

"The truth of the matter is that across the border in Hungary there is presently, so I have been given to understand, a plot afoot, to overthrow the Regent, Admiral Horthy, and to place the rightful heir, the Crown Prince, Otto von Habsburg, on the vacant throne". Seated beside him, Friedrich heard Edith's rapid intake of breath; saw Sybil cover her mouth with her hands in consternation.

"Oh, my God!"

Edith was rather more sanguine.

"Friedrich, darling, plot or no plot, whatever may be the truth in of all of this, I don't see how any of it concerns Matthew and Mary. Or for that matter, darling Tom. None of them are involved in plotting against the Regent of Hungary. All they've done is to accept Manfred and Eva's invitation to visit them at Rózsafa".

"On the face of it, yes".

Edith's brows furrowed.

" _On the face of it_?"

"Exactly so. The point is ..." However, before Friedrich could explain things further, nodding her head emphatically, clearly in agreement with what Edith had just said, Sybil broke in with her own two penn'orth.

"Darling, you're absolutely right! That's all they've done. Nothing more. This plot ... it's nothing at all to do with them".

Friedrich shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Sybil, but it is. Mary to a lesser extent, I grant you. And, I suppose only because she is Matthew's wife although whether the Hungarian authorities will believe that she knew nothing of her husband's involvement. As for ..."  
"But Matthew and Tom aren't mixed up in anything like that ..."

"Not directly, no. But by their association with Manfred and Eva, they most certainly are".

"But Manfred and Eva aren't involved in this, surely?"

"Unfortunately, they are. Quite how much they know, I'm not entirely sure. But some of it, in Tom's own words, _for sure_ ".

"I don't understand". With a mounting sense of disbelief, Sybil shook her head.

"Well, let me try to explain. Some of this, Edith will know already, but you, I am sure, will not. Ever since the war ended, much reduced in size, the Kingdom of Hungary has been ruled by a Regent, the Allies refusing to allow the return of Emperor Karl as king of Hungary even though he had been crowned so back in 1916. After he and his wife tried and failed to regain the throne in 1921, the Allies exiled him and his young family to Madeira, where he died in 1922.

The late emperor's eldest son is now of an age to be crowned king. While I doubt not that he knows nothing of what is being planned on his behalf, there are those who believe that Admiral Horthy, the Regent, is acquiescent in the country becoming ever more Right wing, and is allowing Hungary to become far too close both to Fascist Italy and to Nazi Germany. Horthy's new Prime Minister, is a man called Gömbös known, or I should say _was_ known, for his antipathy to the country's Jews. But while these days he pretends otherwise, there are many in the Jewish community in Hungary who don't trust him. And there are yet those who believe a restoration of the Habsburgs would lead to the country pursuing more moderate policies. Added to which, they seek, as do Horthy and Gömbös, the return of those lands lost to other countries when Hungary was reduced to its present size, in particular Transylvania, since 1920, part of the Kingdom of Roumania". Friedrich turned to Edith. "And, for learning much of what is now afoot, yet again I have to thank your Jewish friends in Vienna".

Sybil nodded.

"But I still don't see how any of this concerns Matthew and Tom".

"Those plotting against Horthy and his government would need foreign agreement to what they propose. What better way to help secure it than by enlisting the support of the British Establishment by involving a respected British peer of the realm, as well known for his liberal views as for his commitment to the League of Nations; at the same time, seeking the help of an equally respected and well known Deputy Editor of a prominent Irish newspaper, and by extension, the British Press, in giving favourable coverage to what is intended. That, I suspect, is what the meeting at Rózsafa is all about".

"But Matthew and Tom would never allow themselves to be used like that!"

"No, I agree, they wouldn't. Honourable men. Both of them. Who would have no part in this. Any of it. If, of course, they knew what it is that is being planned. But they don't. And, while I myself support the idea of a restoration, I suspect those who presently seek to overthrow Horthy and restore the rule of the Habsburgs are not so fastidious in how they achieve their intent".

"Then, there's no time to lose. We must warn Matthew and Tom. Stop them and Mary leaving Budapest for Rózsafa".  
"I agree. But just how do you suggest we do so? After all, with the telephone not working ..."

* * *

 **Uri utca, Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933, the following morning.**

"Last night, when we were all down at the _Arizona_ , you told me just how much you like to dance".

Mary nodded. Taking Tibor's outstretched hand, she rose to her feet.

"Why yes, so I did".

"Well then".

Letting go of her hand, Tibor strode across the room to where a gramophone stood atop of a small table. From a selection of recordings he drew one from out of its sleeve, placed it on the turntable and lowered the arm. For a moment the stylus crackled before the infectious beat of _Yes sir, that's my baby_ spilled out into the room.

"Shall we?"

 _Yes sir, that's my baby,_

 _No sir, don't mean maybe,_

 _Yes sir, that's my baby now!_

 _Yes, ma'm, we've decided,_

 _No ma'am, we won't hide it_

 _Yes, ma'am, you're invited now_

 _By the way,_

 _By the way,_

 _When we reach the preacher I'll say, with feeling,_

 _Yes sir, that's my baby,_

 _No sir, I don't mean maybe,_

 _Yes sir, that's my baby now!"_

 _By the way,_

 _By the way,_

 _When we run into the preacher I'll say I'll say,_

 _Yes sir, that's my baby,_

 _No sir, I don't mean maybe,_

 _Yes sir, that's my baby now._

* * *

The recording warbled to an end.

Flushed from their dancing, their eyes sparkling, Tibor took Mary by the hand.

It was time.

He led her out of the room, across the hall, and upstairs.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933, the previous evening.**

"Then, not a word to the children of course, but a telegram to the hotel, first thing tomorrow morning is our only ..."

At that very moment, the door of the Drawing Room swung open to reveal Max in his pyjamas, standing in the doorway on his crutches. Catching sight of his father, the young boy grinned broadly before hobbling into the middle of the room.

"Papa!"

"Max, darling! What on earth are you doing out of bed?"

"I heard voices, Mama. What happened Papa? Mama and I were so worried. Why weren't you on the express?"

Friedrich smiled.

"All in good time. I'll tell you about it tomorrow. But for now, back upstairs to bed this instant".

"Mama, have you told Papa about what happened to Danny and Simon at the Old Tower?"

"No, darling, not yet. Now, do as Papa told you. Shall I come up and tuck you in?"

"Yes please, Mama".

"Very well then. Now say goodnight".

"Goodnight, Papa".

"Goodnight, my boy".

Friedrich watched in silence as Max and his mother left the room. A moment later the door had closed behind them.

"Now," asked Friedrich turning quickly to Sybil, "what's this I hear about Danny and Simon?"

* * *

 **Uri utca, Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933, the following morning.**

In answer to Matthew's peremptory knocking, a moment or so later the front door of the house swung open, revealing a man attired in tails, whom Matthew took to be the equivalent of Barrow who had replaced the elderly Carson as butler at Downton some years earlier.

"Good morning. Do you speak English?"

The man inclined his head.

"Yes, sir".

"Then, would you kindly inform Captain Csáky that Lord Grantham and Mr. Branson have called to see him". Through the open doorway Matthew glimpsed briefly a hallway, a staircase, and beyond, a paved courtyard. At the same time, the music which had been playing within stopped abruptly.

Silence reigned.

The butler nodded; indicated that Matthew and Tom should enter, standing to one side while the two men stepped into the hall.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933, the previous evening.**

As Sybil finished recounting to Friedrich just what it was that had happened out at the old tower, he shook his head in disbelief.

"But, in the end, no real harm done?"  
"No, thank God! The doctor's coming back again tomorrow morning to look in on the two of them, but earlier tonight, he said that, given time, both Danny and Simon will make a full recovery. I'm so very sorry for all the trouble they've caused. Especially after you told both Danny and Robert not to ..."  
"Now, don't worry yourself about that". Friedrich patted her hand solicitously. "All the same, so as to avoid any further accidents, I'll give orders that the doorway to the tower is properly walled up".

A moment later, the door of the Drawing Room opened and Edith came back into the room. Having seated herself beside Friedrich on the sofa, she sighed.

"Well, I've managed to settle Max down again. Whether he goes back to sleep is in the lap of the gods ... he's far too excited. Honestly, what a night!"

"I've been telling Friedrich about what happened to the boys," explained Sybil.

Friedrich nodded.

"And from what Sybil has told me, it seems I'm not the only one to have had more than my fair share of excitement this evening!"  
"Excitement? Is that what you would call it?" Edith pulled a face. "Now, tell us what happened to you after you left the Archaeological Institute".

"Well, I suppose it all started when I spotted two men, wearing the uniform of the Vaterländische Front, standing on the pavement outside ..."

* * *

 **Uri utca, Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933, the following morning.**

With a perspiring György in tow, Ilona breezed breathlessly into the Drawing Room.

"Matthew! Tom! I'm so sorry. We didn't ... we'd borrowed Tibi's gramophone ... from down here in the Drawing Room. We were upstairs, dancing".

"Yes, we heard!" Tom smiled.

Ilona laughed.

"I understand you're looking for Tibi?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes," said Matthew.

"Well, you've had rather a wasted journey. He's not here. He's presently on duty up at the Palace".

"Oh! No matter".

"Was there something you wanted to speak to him about?"

"No, not really. It was just on the off chance. Tom and I were across there at the Legation and, when we came out, I saw the motor parked in the street. I assumed this must be where you lived. I wanted to thank Tibor once more for what he did yesterday. And also to thank him again ... you as well ... for giving all of us such a marvellous time last night".

Ilona smiled.

"Don't even mention it. We enjoyed it too".

"Well, I suppose we'd best be off. Mary's back at the hotel, and we're booked on the afternoon express".

"Yes, so you said last night. We're coming along to the station to see you off".

"There's no need, really".

"Of course there is. So, à bientôt. And when next I see him, I'll tell Tibi you called. Love to Mary!"

* * *

 **Hotel Britannia, Budapest, Hungary, that same morning.**

 _No doubt Byron or Shelley would put it far better but this is not a time for their words._ _I can only write what is in my heart._ _You know that I love you but of itself that gives me no claim upon you. Neither can I give you any assurance that I could make you happy. It would be arrogant of me to assume that I ..."_

Mary laid the letter aside. Completely oblivious of what was taking place outside in the street below, unseeing, she sat staring out of the hotel bedroom window.

A short while earlier, when she and Tibor had parted, he to resume his duties up at the Palace, and she to return here to the hotel, silencing his protestations, she had made it perfectly plain that there could be nothing further between them. That they must never see each other again. But then, just as the motor was pulling away from outside the house, Tibor had pressed the letter into her hand. On reflection, all things considered, it would have been far better if, as the taxi had slowed to cross the Chain Bridge, she had thrown it, unopened, into the Danube.

Yet, despite all that had been said, Mary had the distinct feeling that she would indeed see Tibor again.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933, earlier the same morning.**

At the earliest opportunity, Friedrich drove himself down to the post office in St. Johann and despatched an urgent telegram addressed to Matthew at the Hotel Britannia:

EARL OF GRANTHAM  
HOTEL BRITANNIA  
BUDAPEST  
KINGDOM OF HUNGARY

UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES TRAVEL TO ROZSAFA STOP

ALL RETURN ROSENBERG IMMEDIATELY STOP

ACKNOWLEDGE RECEIPT

SCHONBORN  
ROSENBERG

REPUBLIC OF AUSTRIA

Back at Rosenberg, all they could do now, was to wait.

* * *

While, as yet, there had still been no reply to Friedrich's telegram, Dr. Berger had been as good as his word, returning to Rosenberg as promised in order to examine both Danny and Simon. Having done so, and with Sybil in attendance, he duly pronounced himself well satisfied with the progress of the two boys. While undoubtedly Danny would have a sore head for several days and it would take a while before Simon was able to use his left arm properly, both of them would make a full recovery. With Max agog to learn all that had happened, Sybil left both him and Robert sitting with Danny in his bedroom, telling the two other boys to make sure that they didn't tire him unduly.

Just after that, as she came down the stairs with Dr. Berger, Sybil saw Feist cross the hall below and pick up the receiver of the telephone. Having replaced it, he walked sedately over to the door of the Drawing Room, knocked, and went inside. Then, as Sybil was still saying goodbye to Dr. Berger at the front door of the house, she saw her brother-in-law, followed by Edith, hurry from the Drawing Room, cross the hall, and pick up the receiver. Catching sight of her, Friedrich nodded.

"Kleist tells me the telephone is working again.

A moment later, Sybil heard Friedrich make contact with the exchange down in St. Johann, asking to put a call through immediately to the Hotel Britannia in distant Budapest.

* * *

 **Hotel Britannia, Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933, the same morning.**

"Yes, sir. Your telegram arrived here over an hour since. However, I must inform you that the earl of Grantham and his party left for the railway station at Keleti, somewhat earlier than anticipated, and so did not receive it". The hotel manager glanced up at the clock on the wall. "No, sir. I regret that will not be possible. The express left ten minutes ago".

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933, the same morning.**

"So, just what do we do now?" asked Edith, her voice faltering.

* * *

 **Royal Palace, Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933, later that afternoon.**

"Let's call it poetic justice".

"Poetic justice? How so?" The Regent looked quizzically at the Nazi officer.

Fergal nodded.

"Oh, decidedly, Your Highness. Arrangements have been made for Captain Csáky to be in charge of the firing squad".

 **Author's Note:**

 _... with the Light Brigade at Balaclava._ The Charge of the Light Brigade took place during the Crimean War and involved a brigade of British light cavalry, led by Lord Cardigan, mistakenly charging a battery of Russian artillery.

Biedermeier - an early nineteenth century German style of furniture which became very popular amongst European cabinetmakers.

Fiercely opposed to both Nazism and the Communism, throughout the early 1930s, Crown Prince Otto (1912-2011) was himself active in promoting a Habsburg restoration.

Gyula Gömbös de Jákfa (1886–1936). An army officer and right wing politician who served as Prime Minister of Hungary 1932-1936. Known for his detestation of the Habsburgs, the Hungarian aristocracy, and the Jews, which of them he disliked most is hard to say. As Prime Minister of Hungary, his first foreign visit was to meet with Benito Mussolini and his second to see Adolf Hitler.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Across The Alföld

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

"Friedrich, darling, there must be something we can do".

"I don't see what".

"Perhaps ... Perhaps there's someone we know. Someone who might be able to help".

"Well, I can't think of anyone. Can you?"

For a while, Edith said nothing.

"No," she said at length; now sat dejected, staring into space.

* * *

The tenor of the conversation, let alone the situation in which they now found themselves, placed yet further strain on Sybil's already frayed nerves. She knew she couldn't sit here a moment longer, as to do so risked bursting into tears. And that would never do. For the sake of the children, she had to remain strong. She rose to her feet.

"I really think I should go and look in on Danny".

Sybil knew, of course, that it wasn't necessary. For, as well as caring for the rest of her young charges, Nanny Bridges had said she would keep a special eye on Danny; would let Sybil know immediately if there was the slightest change, or if he appeared to be in any discomfort. Nonetheless, Sybil knew she had to keep herself busy.

When she had last seen him, despite having his head bandaged, Danny's lamp lit bedroom had been a haven of calm. Well, not quite that. Not with Robert and Max sitting together on his bed; young Max impatient to learn what had happened out at the Old Tower. And, despite having told her two nephews not to tire Danny unduly, when Sybil left the room, the three boys were talking in hushed whispers. nineteen to the dozen. Not that Sybil was surprised. It was ever thus when they were together, even if with Max still on crutches, Danny with a battered and bruised head, young Robert was the only one of the "Three Musketeers" who, at least for now, was both hale and hearty.

"Darling, if you don't mind, I think I'll come with you and see if Max has settled down". Then, trying to lighten the mood somewhat, Edith did her best to summon up a smile. "Knowing him as I do, somehow, I rather doubt it!"

"No, of course not".

But sooner or later, the older children would have to be told something of what had come to pass. Exactly what that was remained to be seen; in a sense, it was in the lap of the gods, but for the present, and thankfully so, all were blissfully unaware of what was unfolding there across the border in Hungary.

* * *

Having left Sybil at the head of the main staircase to first go along and see Simon, then thereafter Danny, Edith had turned the other way; trod softly down the carpeted corridor, as far as the door to Max's bedroom. Having once reached it, without the slightest sound, she turned the handle, and stepped swiftly inside. If darling Max was fast asleep, which she thought to be unlikely - tonight here at Rosenberg, both among the adults and the children, even if for different reasons, sleep was something that was in rather short supply - she did not wish to disturb him.

* * *

 **Keleti Railway Station, Budapest, Hungary, the following afternoon.**

Irrespective of their size, or indeed their locale, railway stations the world over are very much one and the same: often places of joyous greetings and, sometimes, of equally tearful farewells. And, today, here at Keleti, it was no different. An ornate, imposing structure, the booking hall decorated with frescoes and wall paintings, with statues of George Stephenson and James Watt adorning the front façade, surmounted by a sculpted figure representing Steam, and with an arching, overall glass roof, the station lay some distance from the Hotel Britannia, on the south side of Budapest, just off Baross tér.

That they should take an earlier train than originally intended had been Manfred's suggestion. Quite why, remained something of a mystery. Apparently, it was to do with who else would be staying at Rózsafa; all of which seemed to come as no great surprise, either to Matthew, or indeed to Tom. Not that the slight change of plan caused any undue difficulty, with the manager of the Britannia making all of the necessary arrangements which the re-arranged time of departure had involved. And, said Tom, while they were walking down the stairs to the lobby of the hotel, to be driven to the railway station, the sooner they reached Rózsafa, the sooner they would return to Rosenberg. At this, Matthew and Mary had exchanged amused glances. That Tom was missing Sybil and the children was only all too obvious. And, if the truth be told, despite the fact that Mary would never admit to it, she and Matthew were both looking forward to seeing their own brood again too.

* * *

Shortly after midday, with Tibor's military duties detaining him up at the Palace, thus preventing him from being at the railway station to bid them all adieu, it was Ilona, along with Pal and Sarita, who came to Keleti to see Matthew, Mary, and Tom board the midday express which would take them southwards to Gyula. The three of them arrived just as Matthew and Tom had returned from a stroll down the platform to look at the locomotive. The boys, said Matthew, by whom Mary supposed he meant Danny, Robert, and Max, would never forgive them if they failed to do so, and then rendered an account of the same when they all had returned to Rosenberg.

Of course, Mary could not own to knowing that Tibor would not be there to witness their departure. So, when Ilona now apologised on his behalf, before presenting Mary with a bouquet of red roses purchased, she said, by her brother from one of the several flower sellers down on the quays beside the Danube, Mary had to feign surprise, at the same time blushing a shade akin to the colour of the flowers themselves.

"Oh, really! The silly boy! He shouldn't have!"

Nonetheless, secretly, she was delighted; try as she might, could not recall the last time Matthew had bought her flowers. Now, raising her head from inhaling the scent of the roses, Mary's eyes met those of Matthew; saw that he was faintly amused. As she supposed well he might be. A moment later, having asked to be remembered yet again to Tibor, their final thanks having been given, and their last goodbyes said to Ilona, as well as to both Pal and Sarita, with the Chef de Bord standing erect and straight beside the door to their carriage, respectfully touching the gold braided brim of his cap, and bidding them welcome, Matthew, Mary, and Tom boarded the midday express.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, the previous night.**

Here within Max's bedroom, all was silent, all was quiet, and, save for the faint glow coming from the night light standing on the bedside table, all was in darkness.

The glimmer of light illuminated but slightly the dozen or so little, wooden aircraft, all of them painstakingly assembled and painted by Max with help from his father. Or rather, each carefully put together and liveried by Friedrich ... with a little help from Max, to be strung on different lengths of white cotton thread and hung from the ceiling directly over Max's bed.

Among them was a red painted Fokker tri-plane bearing the serial number 425/17, an exact miniature of the machine which had belonged to _The Red Baron_ , Manfred von Richthofen. There was also a Lohner B. VII, as flown by one of Friedrich's friends, Stabsfeldwebel Julius Arigi, Austria-Hungary's most decorated flying ace, who in one engagement had shot down five out of half a dozen enemy aircraft.

But taking pride of place was a model of an Albatross D-III, of the type flown by Friedrich during the Great War, more especially in his famous skirmish above the Isonzo river high in the Julian Alps.

* * *

Above Edith's head, faintly moving, on account of some slight draught, ghost like and silent, Max's little aeroplanes cast flickering shadows on the plaster ceiling. Fastened stoutly to the wall just above the bed, not without some misgivings on the part of Edith, was fixed the unusual present Max had received at Christmas 1931, from Kapitän Conrad Wyss; just after he had intervened to save Edith and young Max from what might have proved to be a very nasty encounter with a group of Jew hating soldiers of the _Heimwehr_ at the Westbahnhof.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, Christmas Day, December 1931.**

At least for the family, Christmas at Rosenberg had been a decidedly leisurely affair. A late breakfast, followed by the servants being given their presents in the hall beside the Christmas tree after which Friedrich, Edith and Max had all adjourned to the Drawing Room to exchange their own gifts in private. But, of all the presents young Max received, the one with which he was most delighted, was that to which Kapitän Wyss had alluded so enigmatically on Christmas Eve, just as Edith and Max were about to board the Salzburg express.

What that now turned out to be was a wooden propeller from off an Albatross D-III; the 'plane to which it had belonged having long since been broken up, at the the end of the Great War so said Papa, when the surviving machines of the Austro-Hungarian Air Force had been surrendered to the victorious Allies. Quite how the propeller had escaped destruction, and then come into the possession of the Kapitän, remained something of a mystery.

But survived it had.

And, having acquired the propeller, knowing young Max's fascination with all things aeronautical, with no children of his own, Kapitän Wyss had given it to Friedrich and Edith as a Christmas present for Max; where it would be displayed would, said Friedrich, need some careful thought. Max had a prompt answer for that; on the wall above his bed.

"Perhaps," said his father, "if the wall is strong enough to hold it".

At that, Edith smiled; sparing a thought for Sybil who, in one of her recent letters, had mentioned in passing that eleven year old Danny's bedroom was cluttered with bits and pieces from off several old motors: a brass lamp, a wooden steering wheel, and so forth. Predictably enough, wrote Sybil, Tom saw no harm in it. She, on the other hand thought Danny's room looked like a scrapyard. And when she had said as much to Tom, he had been absolutely no help at all ...

* * *

 **Idrone Terrace, Blackrock, Irish Free State, late June 1931.**

Sybil cast a decidedly disapproving eye over Danny's latest prize; a battered radiator from off some motor.

"It's _unique_ , Ma!"

Sybil had never heard Danny use the word before. Clearly he must have learned it from his father which only served to reinforce Sybil's suspicions that Tom had played a part in Danny's newest acquisition.

"I agree. It is. In fact, I've never seen anything quite so rusty! Unique or not, it stays outside. In your Da's workshop".

"Oh, Ma!"

It was at precisely this moment that Tom wandered in from the garden. While Danny explained to him that Ma had said the radiator would have to stay in the workshop, that she wasn't having his bedroom looking like a scrapyard, husband and wife stood facing each other across the kitchen table, Sybil with her arms folded, Tom with his right arm placed protectively around his son's shoulders.

"Darlin' have yous ever seen a scrapyard, for sure?" asked Tom and with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, while at the same time hugging Danny to him.

"No," said Sybil flatly.

"I could take yous to see Donnelly's yard this afternoon, if yous like". Tom grinned.

Honestly, thought Sybil, if darling Papa had still been alive, why, at this time of the year he would have been offering to escort Mama to Ladies' Day at Ascot or else to accompany her to view the Royal Regatta at Henley while here was Tom proposing that he take her to see a bloody scrapyard!

Sybil stood her ground; now pointed to the radiator standing propped against the wall by the back door.

" **That**! **Outside.** In the workshop!"

Sybil looked mutinous; much, thought Tom, as General Nivelle must have done, at Verdun, during the Great War, when famously he declared of the Germans, _"_ _Ils ne passeront pas!"_

* * *

And the radiator?

It stayed outside.

In Tom's workshop.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

Like Friedrich, Conrad Wyss had lost his wife in the epidemic of Spanish 'flu which had swept across Europe in the aftermath of the Great War. But, unlike Friedrich, he had never found anyone to replace his Elisabeth. If, however, he had chanced to meet Edith before she had met Friedrich, then perhaps he ... But life is full of regrets, upon which it really does not do to dwell.

For her part, Edith rather liked Conrad; in modern parlance, they "rubbed along" and she was equally very well aware how attracted to her he was. When last they had heard from him, Conrad was in Bucharest, in Roumania. He had not remarried.

Now, as she approached Max's bed, in the dim, grey light, Edith saw that it was empty. And not only that. Heavens! The bed itself had been stripped clean of all its pillows, covers, and sheets, leaving only the bare mattress. What on earth was going on? And, just where was Max?

* * *

Having found both Bobby and Simon sound asleep, Simon with Oscar tucked in beside him, a few moments later Sybil had let herself into Danny's bedroom. Saw that he too was fast asleep. And, also, with a distinct sense of shock, that Danny was not alone. Behind her in the darkness, Sybil heard a slight movement. Turning, she saw that it was Edith.

"Max isn't in his bed ... I don't know where he can possibly ..." whispered Edith, clearly worried.

Placing a forefinger to her lips, Sybil shook her head and smiled. Taking Edith gently by the arm, she turned back to the room, indicated the scene before them. Next to Danny's bed, his head resting on a pillow and covered with a blanket, both of which Edith recognised immediately as having come from off Max's bed, Robert lay fast asleep in an armchair. With his crutches propped neatly in one corner, on an improvised bed made from the remainder of the bedclothes and the other pillow from his own bed, sprawled on his tummy, hugging the pillow to him, stretched out on the floor, Max likewise lay sound asleep. In spite of everything else that had happened here tonight, the two sisters found themselves smiling.

 _Tous pour un et un pour tous_

It had been thus with these three ever since their shared adventure in the Alps last summer. Understandably, neither Edith nor Sybil had the heart to disturb the three sleeping boys. Instead, they stole softly out of Danny's bedroom, quietly closed the door, and slipped silently away.

* * *

At the top of the stairs, Edith suddenly stopped dead in her tracks; so much so that Sybil all but bumped into her.

"Of course! Dummkopf! Call me slow witted, if you will!" she exclaimed.

"What on earth is it?" asked Sybil.

"Conrad!" exclaimed Edith promptly.

"Just who is Conrad?" asked Sybil, clearly mystified.

"Yes, Conrad, repeated Edith to herself, before realising that the name would mean nothing at all to Sybil; that an explanation was in order. "There's absolutely no time to lose. I'll tell you downstairs".

* * *

 **Somewhere in south east Hungary, the following afternoon.**

From up ahead there came the shrill scream of a whistle. A moment later, yet again, indeed maddeningly so, the express began to slow down. Seated across from her, Mary saw Tom pull out his gold pocket watch and glance at the dial.

A superb example of the watchmaker's craft, the heavily embossed watch had, as Mary herself knew, been a gift from her late father, to mark Tom's appointment as Deputy Editor of the Irish Independent back in '29. At the time, Robert's congratulatory telegram had been so effusive in singing Tom's praises that, when he had recovered from the shock of the adulation being heaped upon him, Tom had it framed; the telegram taking pride of place on the wall behind his desk in his office in Talbot Street in Dublin. Much to Sybil's own amusement, her father's subsequent telephone call to the house in Idrone Terrace had been just as laudatory.

While Robert and Tom never would agree on matters political, the earl of Grantham was inordinately proud of his Irish son-in-law's success as a journalist. So much so, not that Robert ever admitted this to anyone, not even to Cora, but following the signing of the Anglo-Irish Treaty of 1922, he asked Carson to ensure that, along with the Times, a copy of the Irish Independent was sent up to the abbey on a daily basis from old Barnes who ran the newsagent's down in the village. Unlike the copy of the Thunderer, which was brought to the breakfast table in the Dining Room, that of the Indy was to be placed on Robert's desk in the Library for his own personal perusal. Perhaps not unsurprisingly, Robert never read any edition in its entirety, choosing instead to seek out the articles penned by Tom. These were culled dutifully from the paper and carefully pasted into an old leather bound photograph album, the cuttings copiously annotated in Robert's own hand with remarks both critical and complimentary, along with a positive flurry of exclamation and question marks.

Now, if at the time it had been made, Tom had learned of Robert's private arrangement, he would gladly have taken it upon himself to see that a copy of the Irish Independent was sent to his father-in-law _gratis_ each and every day. However, Tom never found out what had been going on until a couple of years later, namely in the summer of 1931, when, following Robert's death, Barrow had asked Matthew if, as the new earl of Grantham, he still required a copy of the Irish Independent to be sent up to the abbey each and every day.

Replacing the watch carefully back in the pocket of his waistcoat from whence he had drawn it, Tom nodded contentedly. Seeing Mary's eyes were upon him, he smiled.

"A while yet, for sure," he drawled and which indeed proved to be the case.

* * *

 **British Legation, Budapest, Hungary, earlier that same day.**

 _"And moreover, what I have to impress upon the both of you most of all is that should you run into difficulties, there is nothing, I repeat nothing, that the Government of His Britannic Majesty can do, or will do, to help you"._

Given what the British Ambassador had told them, what they would find when they reached Manfred and Eva's country estate at Rózsafa was anyone's guess.

* * *

A short while later, standing on the pavement outside the British Legation, just before he had set eyes on Tibor's motor, having adjusted his hat, Matthew turned to Tom.

"Thank you for what you said in there. All the same, there's still time for you to walk away from this".

"Where yous go, I go, for sure!"

"Good man. I knew I could count on you".

* * *

 **South east Hungary, later that same day.**

As the midday express steamed southeast towards Gyula, here in the opulence of their First Class compartment, Matthew and Tom were now deep in discussion; their conversation wide ranging, although concerned principally with the plight of Hungary following the signing of the Treaty of Trianon, the betrayal of the last Habsburg emperor by the Regent, and also with what both of them agreed wholeheartedly was the rapidly deteriorating political situation here in central Europe.

Matters political, and foreign politics at that, were of no interest whatsoever to Mary. Besides which, with Matthew and Tom being remarkably well informed upon the subject presently under consideration, much of their discussion quite went over her head. So, rather than try and attempt to take part in their conversation, upon issues with which she was not cogniscant, which she did not understand, and, to be perfectly frank cared about not one whit, with other matters clouding her own mind, Mary was quite content to leave the two men to their discussions. So, seated next to the window, she sat gazing out at the countryside passing beyond the carriage.

At Rosenberg when, at Sybil's prompting, Manfred had proceeded to tell them all something of his homeland, he had spoken of the glamour and sophistication of Budapest, had waxed lyrical on the immensity and wide vistas of the Great Hungarian Plain, it had seemed, at least to Mary, that he must in some way be exaggerating. However, what he had told them concerning Hungary, both of the splendours of its capital and the limitless expanse of the Alföld, had proved to be just as he had described.

With Budapest now left far behind, the scenery presently unfolding outside the carriage window was unlike anything Mary had ever seen before. It took the form of one gigantic plain, above which even the sky itself seemed limitless. And beneath the immense, cloudless, azure vault, shimmering in the stifling heat of high summer, as far as the eye could see and then beyond even that, there stretched a flat, illimitable sweep of grassland, dotted about with grazing flocks of spiral horned sheep, as well as herds of long horned, ash-grey cattle.

At one point, where the train had slowed to little more than a crawl, close to the railway line, the mounts of two drovers attracted Mary's attention. The men, both of them dressed identically in black felt hats, white linen shirts and baggy trousers worn loose over black knee length boots, were watering a herd of grey cattle down in the river; the air itself thick with the lowing of beasts. As for the horses, they really were quite splendid, one a chestnut, the other a roan.

As the train puffed slowly past, the cattle spooked. In an instant they were off; thundering across the plain, intent on getting as far away as possible from the steaming monster which had disturbed their watering hole at the river.

In a jingle of harness and a clammer of horns, whistling to a pack of long haired dogs, the two men wheeled their mounts neatly about, spurring their horses forward in pursuit of the fleeing cattle. Catching up with the bawling herd, the pace of which had soon slowed to a shambling dawdle, the drovers proceeded to cajole the errant cattle into some semblance of order, barking commands to their dogs, rounding up the strays, prodding them back into the herd, with long, whisper thin goads.

Occasionally, Mary glimpsed clumps of trees, unless, of course, they were a mirage which, according to what Manfred had told them, was sometimes the case. Apparently, it was something to do with a trick of the light. Among the endless fields of wheat, Indian corn, and what Tom said was tobacco, there now reared the white stucco, straw thatched buildings of yet another farm, with its T shaped sweep well out in the courtyard, while all around the huddled buildings, the surrounding fields stretched away into the middle distance.

The far-flung peaks glimpsed on the horizon were, Mary presumed, those of the Carpathians, of which Tibor had spoken when he had been telling her about his family's lost estate at Serény. And with that, Mary fell to thinking once more of what had passed between them.

* * *

When Sybil had pressed her on the matter, if only to keep the peace, Mary had agreed that there never had been anything between Matthew and the beautiful Alice, comtesse de Roquebrune. All the same, a small part of Mary still refused to accept this was so. Moreover, unlike Sybil, Mary had seen **that** photograph: the one sent to her anonymously, inscribed _Vive l'Entente Cordiale_ and signed from _A Well Wisher_. The picture had been taken in Geneva, by the shores of the lake, and showed _the earl of Grantham and his companion_ , strolling, arm in arm, along the water's edge.

So, had what passed between Tibor and herself been simply on account of her continuing suspicions?

Perhaps.

But then, if that was so, it did her no credit.

None whatsoever.

It would mean that however much Tibor had wanted her, **still** wanted her, that she had used him shamelessly.

For when he had wanted to make love to her, she had been unable to go through with the physical act itself.

And just why had that been?

Because she was afraid?

Because of the scandal?

Because of the whispered rumours?

No.

Not for any one of these reasons.

But because, despite all that had happened, she loved Matthew.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, the previous evening.**

Back in the Drawing Room, Edith now proceeded to explain just what it was she had in mind.

"Darling, I think I know who can help us".

"Who?"

"Conrad!"

"Conrad? Why on earth Conrad?"

"Don't you remember? He's living in Roumania".

"When last we heard of him, yes. In Bucharest. As a flying instructor to the air force there. But I still don't see ..."

"Don't you?"

"No, I don't".

"Like you, he was a pilot during the war".

"What of it?"

"Have you forgotten?"

Edith sounded like someone who knew she held a trump card. Friedrich was intrigued; wanted to know just what that was.

"So, what is it that I have forgotten?"  
"That Rózsafa lies just across the border".

"And?"

"There's a landing strip there".

"Of sorts. Yes".

"A 'plane flown from Roumania could be over the border, land at Rózsafa, pick up Matthew, Mary, and Tom, and be back across the frontier in no time at all".

"You can't be serious!"

"Why ever not? It's perfectly feasible. If need be, I'll even fly the damned thing myself!"

"Edith, this is utter madness".

"No, it isn't. Not where our family is concerned. I'll risk anything, do anything, to keep them safe!"

Friedrich knew that when Edith was in this frame of mind there was no reasoning with her. Yet for all that, what she had proposed might just work. He rose to his feet.

"Where on earth are you going?"  
Friedrich paused; for one long moment he stood looking down at his wife; then he smiled.

"Where do you think? To put a call through to Conrad in Bucharest".

* * *

 **Railway Station, Gyula, south east Hungary, late the following afternoon.**

To a cacophony of church bells, the late running express finally pulled into the station at Gyula and, for Matthew, Mary, and Tom, the long journey from Budapest, all the way down here, close to the border with Roumania, was now at an end. Looking out of the window, Mary saw, standing on the platform, ready to greet them, Manfred and Eva, both all smiles. Behind, slightly apart from them, all but lost in shadow, there stood a young man.

While the porters busied themselves seeing to all of the luggage, Manfred and Eva moved forward along the platform and greeted their newly arrived guests. This done, Manfred turned to introduce the young man standing behind them beneath the station canopy.

"And this, I think, is someone you know already".

Smiling broadly, Captain Tibor Csáky stepped smartly forward into the brightness of the late afternoon sunshine.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Opened in 1884, despite being badly damaged in WWII, Kereti station is once again much as is described.

Nineteen to the dozen - an English phrase meaning to do something rapidly.

The Thunderer - the nickname given to The Times.

The mirage to which Mary refers is known as a Fata Morgana.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Fritz Is Not Amused

 **Somewhere near Oradea, Transylvania, Kingdom of Roumania, summer 1933.**

Standing beneath the mansion's magnificent arched porte-cochère, the young countess smiled warmly at her departing guests; an Englishman and his sister.

"It really is such a terrible shame ... that the pair of you no less, have to go. And just when we were all getting along so famously!"

"Agreed, darling!"

"Now, promise me, that you'll come back. And soon!"

"Yes, of course! And thank you once again, darling. For everything!"

The countess nodded.

"Not at all. My pleasure, I assure you".

"Ours, likewise".

The others smiled, now turned, and climbed inside the back of the waiting car. The countess waved; her farewells returned in equal measure through the rear window by the two sitting on the back seat.

A moment later, the car was in motion, drawing slowly away from the house, and, gathering speed, disappearing down the drive, bound for the railway station at Curtici and the border with Hungary.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, earlier that same morning.**

The previous night, when, after the rescue party had returned here to Rosenberg, bringing with them both darling Danny and young Simon, having been told by Ma that, despite his injuries, the doctor was certain Danny would make a full recovery, that in any event he was returning in the morning to look in on both his patients, Saiorse had gone to bed reassured. Sometime later, awoken by the sound of voices in the corridor outside her bedroom, recognising them to be those of both Aunt Edith and Max, at the time she had sensed ...

No, it had been stronger than that.

She had **known** that something else was wrong.

Something which had nothing at all to do with what had happened to the boys out at the old tower.

Something which had nothing to do either with Uncle Friedrich having missed the express.

Something ... dreadful.

So, this morning, awakened early by the sound of men's feet tramping across the gravel forecourt below the bedroom window and still being of the same mind as she had been earlier, taking care so as not to disturb her cousin Rebecca with whom, much to her displeasure, Saiorse had to share a room, she had gone in search of Ma. However, knocking softly at the door of her parents' bedroom elicited no response. Ma, she supposed, must still be asleep and, not wishing to disturb her, Saiorse had tiptoed quietly away. Even if her suspicions were correct, they would keep; at least for the present. Then, from round the corner of the corridor, Saiorse heard the sound of hushed voices.

* * *

 **Athénée Palace Hotel, Bucharest, Kingdom of Roumania, the previous night.**

On a pitch black, starless, sultry night, here on the Mutenia Plain, in the heart of Bucharest, the cosmopolitan capital of the Kingdom of Roumania, on the corner of the Calea Victoriei and the Strada Episcopiei, in a luxuriously appointed suite, on the fourth floor of the sumptuous Athénée Palace Hotel, overlooking the Parcul Ateneului, not far from the magnificent Ateneul Român - the Roumanian Athenaeum - the telephone rang.

From the far side of the room there came the sound of a key being quickly turned in the lock. A moment later, the door of the suite swung open, and a man attired in evening dress strode purposefully across the darkened sitting room, and even before switching on the light beside him, reached hurriedly for the receiver. This done he sank down wearily into the deeply upholstered armchair, began loosening his bow tie, at the same time glancing up at the clock on the wall. It was just after midnight.

"Yes, this is Kapitän Wyss speaking. Who? At this time? Are you quite certain? Then, of course, put him through ..."

* * *

From somewhere outside, down on the Calea Victoriei, came the clang of a tramcar, then the clip clop of hooves, and a rumble of wheels, followed by the blare of a motor horn and the screech of brakes as a horse drawn droshkie and a motor taxi pulled smartly to a stand. Then came the sound of angry voices; a heated exchange ensuing between two men, presumably the driver of the droshkie and that of the taxi cab.

Elsewhere, down on the pavement of the Strada Episcopiei, the man who had been lounging against a lamp post, looking up at the façade of the hotel, seeing the light come on in the window of the room he had been watching, extinguished his cigarette, and hailed the taxi driver who had ceased his loud bickering with the peasant in charge of the droshkie.

Meanwhile, inside the hotel, upstairs on the fourth floor, Conrad Wyss waited with increasing impatience while the unexpected telephone call from distant Austria was put through to his suite.

* * *

"Friedrich, my dear fellow ...

No, old friend, of course not. Don't apologise. No, not at all. You know me! What an unexpected and most welcome surprise! Mind you, a few moments earlier and you wouldn't have caught me in. No, as it happens! I was down in the bar. Why, the English Bar of course! Where else? Yes, that's right. Here in the hotel. And before that out at a concert at the Athenaeum. A stone's throw from here. Yes, quite magnificent. Oh, the concert? Excellent. _Lohengrin_. Edith would have enjoyed it. The tenor playing Lohengrin was first-rate. "Durch dich musst' ich verlieren" was well performed too. The others? Passable. Yes, well, quite!

Actually, to tell you the truth, I was speaking of you earlier tonight. At dinner, as it happens. Yes, here in Bucharest. I'm rather spoilt for choice. Several. All excellent. Indeed. Yes. That's why they call it the Paris of the East. A brasserie. _Capsa's_. Just a short walk away. Good company. Very convivial. Brüno? Yes, he's here too. Like me, helping to train their pilots. Well, now you come to ask, somewhat of a rag bag. But then weren't some of our own young recruits much the same?

And how is Edith? I'm very glad to hear that. And young Max? Really? Nothing too serious I hope. Oh, I see. Well thank goodness it was no worse. My thoughts entirely. Boys will be boys. Yes, I remember you telling me that they were descending on you _en masse_ so to speak. Really? What's that? No, of course. Yes, I appreciate that. No, but be careful how you ... I'm not certain. But there remains the possibility that it is.

Do you remember the system we devised during the war, to prevent the _Linienschiffsleutnant_ from understanding what it was we were talking about, let alone who! That's the one. So, perhaps it would be better if I asked the questions, if you follow my drift".

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, early the following morning.**

Saiorse had not been the only one to have awoken early this morning.

It was Her Late Majesty, Queen Victoria, who famously had declared that she was not amused although ever since her death, some thirty years earlier, there had been much debate as to whether the old queen had actually ever uttered those words. However, here at Rosenberg, on this bright summer's morn someone, possessed of a Germanic descent which rivalled that of the late queen, was himself most decidedly not amused.

Young Max's beloved dachshund.

Fritz.

Trotting across the flagstones of the hall, claws clicking, glancing up ahead of him, the little dog shook his head in disbelief.

Stairs, stairs, stairs!

And here were more of the blasted things!

First there had been that long flight, with its exceedingly deep, wooden treads, leading up from the kitchen to the ground floor of the house which had served to make the dachshund even more irascible than he was already.

Now, if Fritz had been able to give human voice to his anxieties, he would have told you that for a dog with legs as short as his own, negotiating any step was difficult; that if there was more than one then doubly so. And, if the steps had especially deep treads, then traversing them was, at least for him, akin to a human faced with accomplishing one of the Labours of Hercules. All this apart, that quite unaccountably he had been left down in the kitchen overnight - when more often than not he slept away the hours of darkness curled up snug and warm on his young master's bed, safely out of the way of Weisman's booted feet - had put the little dachshund in a decidedly grumpy mood. And then, having been awoken early from his slumbers by the constant chattering of two house maids neither of whom had bothered to give him so much as a single morsel to eat, had, in Fritz's opinion served to make a bad situation even worse. At which point, decidedly unamused, Fritz had decided to go in search of his young master, intending once he found him, to give free rein to his canine concerns.

So, here he was, pottering his way across a seemingly never ending succession of stone flags. Then, ahead of him, espying the long curving flight of steps, leading upstairs to his master's bedroom, little Fritz's heart sank. While those treads were undoubtedly much shallower than the ones leading out of the kitchen, he knew they were made from some hard substance that felt exceedingly cold to the touch.

Having reached the foot of the staircase, setting his front paws on the first of the marble treads, feeling under him, just as he had expected, the surface of the step hard and cold against his belly, Fritz snorted his displeasure.

* * *

 **Royal Palace, Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933.**

"And you say Branson úr is especially enamoured of his wife?" the Regent asked.

"Indeed. Touchingly so. And she of him. For sure".

"Aren't all men?" Momentarily, Horthy thought of his own beloved Magdolna, thirteen years his junior; the mother of their four children, two sons, István and Miklós, the younger boy named after himself, and two daughters, Magdolna, named for her mother, and Paula. He looked up enquiringly at the other.

"Not necessarily".

"Are you speaking from personal experience?"

Fergal smiled thinly. When he answered, he did so obliquely.

"Given that Branson considers himself to be an honourable man, is proud of his unblemished reputation as a journalist, let alone his unsullied marriage, notwithstanding of course that he was once his late father-in-law's chauffeur, I doubt he would be able to live with himself were it to become widely known that he had become entangled with ...

"Just exactly what do you have in mind?"

Fergal smiled. Shook his head. This time, once again, his reply was indirect.

"I think you know Count János Almásy?"

"I am aware of the family, yes. But know, him? No. I think not. Of course, back in '21, his brother, László, was involved in the attempt by Károly to regain the throne. Did you know that?"

Fergal nodded.

"So I believe. And, decidedly misguided".  
"Indeed".  
"Am I to suppose that you have also not heard of Baron Redesdale?"

"Rothermere, yes. Of course. Thanks to his vociferous support for revisions to the Treaty of Trianon, here in Hungary, he is well respected. But Redesdale? No. Perhaps you would enlighten me".  
"But of course. An impoverished English aristocrat; who goes by the surname of Mitford. With a large family; a son and six daughters. Like many of his ilk, perennially short of money. The son, Tom, together with one of Redesdale's younger daughters, Unity, are presently in Roumania, staying with Countess Ghyczy at her family estate near Oradea in Transylvania. Both of them will, I understand, be joining the house party at Rózsafa".

The Regent nodded.

"You are remarkably well informed".

"I make it my business to be so".

"And?"

"And?" echoed Fergal. Realisation dawned. "Oh, I see. What Your Highness means is how does that concern us? Well, let me put it this way, the Honourable Unity Mitford is known for being ... exceedingly catholic in her tastes. If you follow my meaning".

Horthy said nothing. There was no need for him to do so. The expression of disgust registered on his face was far more eloquent than any words.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, early the following morning.**

Sometime later, having made his way upstairs, Fritz's displeasure had only increased. For, having trotted down the passage which led to his young master's bedroom, there to claw repeatedly at the door, his scratchings and snufflings had elicited no response at all. Some sixth sense now told Fritz that the room beyond the door was empty. Briefly raising his snout, the little dachshund sniffed the air. A moment later and he was off, scurrying down the corridor just as fast as his short legs would allow, before disappearing round the corner, following the scent of his young master, which led him as far as another door which like the last was shut fast.

Well, not quite.

For, to all intents and purposes, despite it having been firmly closed by Sybil last night, the latch on the door was faulty. Not of course that Fritz was aware of this and he was as surprised as anyone when, after scrabbling at the door it swung if not exactly open, then far enough ajar for him to slip inside the darkened room which lay beyond it.

* * *

 _ **Somewhere over the Isonzo river, Italian Front, Julian Alps, December 1917.**_

 _Circling high above the airfield, glancing at the gauges, noting too the time on the clock, looking round behind him Max saw that the other four aircraft had also left terra firma. Waiting for his companions to catch up with him, at about 1400 metres, he eased off on the throttle, before climbing higher still, gulping in mouthfuls of cold Alpine air in order to clear his ears as the pressure changed, before heading for the Italian lines._

 _Far below, sparkling in the morning sunlight, Max saw waterfalls, lakes, and then the river itself. Saw, too, bright flashes of artillery fire followed by puffs of dirty brown smoke where shells were bursting in and around the lines of the trenches. A moment later and puffs of black smoke from shrapnel_ _began peppering the sky close at hand_ _, the noise of the explosions drowned out by the roar from the motor of the Albatross._

* * *

 _An enemy machine was coming straight at him._

 _While it was still someway off, the Italian pilot of the Nieuport 11 opened fire with his machine guns. Tut-tut-tut. The staccato hail of bullets tore into the Albatross, ripping the flimsy canvas covering of both the fuselage and wings to shreds. A spray of bullets struck the cowling of the engine, sending the Albatross into a corkscrew, spiralling steeply down, while Max fought desperately to control his spinning machine._

* * *

 _The ground was hurtling towards him at an alarming rate of knots._

 _With thick black smoke pouring from the engine, Max finally regained control of the Albatross. Then he was landing. Bump, bump, bump. The machine spun round, ending up facing back from whence it had come, spluttering to an abrupt halt in a meadow on the edge of a snow-covered pine forest._

 _Wiping a mixture of blood, oil, and sweat from off his face, Max lay back in the cockpit and breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief._

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

With a start, Max awoke from his re-occurring dream.

Something cold and wet was nuzzling at his left ear.

Opening wide his blue grey eyes and looking about him, turning his head, he saw that it was Fritz. For one brief moment, Max had difficulty in recalling where exactly he was. Then he remembered. On the floor of Danny's bedroom. Last night, after their Irish cousin had drifted off to sleep, both Rob and he had decided to keep Danny company by the simple expedient of setting up makeshift beds in his room, made from pillows and bed clothes taken from off Max's own bed.

"Frittie, was machst du denn hier?" Max whispered, at the same time pulling the little dog to him and hugging him tightly. Fritz barked his delight. "Frittie! Pst!" Not, of course, that it made the slightest difference. Fritz continued with his yapping; it seeming to be the case that his young master didn't understand his voiced complaint about having been left downstairs overnight; nor all the trouble to which he had then been put in order to make his way up here from the kitchen.

Awakened by Fritz's persistent barking, from somewhere above, there came the sound of Danny's voice.

"What ... what are yous two doing in here, for sure?" he croaked.

Rob was now awake too.

"Dan! How are you feeling?"

"Rotten but alive, for sure! I'm hungry. Is there anything to eat?"

Without even thinking, Max scrambled to his feet.

"We could go down to the kitchen and see".

"Max! You're standing on your own two feet!" exclaimed Rob.  
"Without your crutches!" This from Danny now sitting up in his bed and leaning forward.

For Max, reality dawned.

"Why, so I am!" He beamed.

This was ever the way of it. Whether caused by an accident, or simply spontaneously, a bleed would suddenly cease of its own accord; a clot would form, and the slow process of the internal reabsorbing of leaked blood would begin. So too with the resultant pain and what often went with it: namely, the immobility of a joint whether an elbow, a hip, or as had been the case this time, a knee. The pain would stop as completely as if it had never been and, eventually, although sometimes it took days, even weeks for him to do so, Max would regain the use of the affected joint; as had happened this morning.

All the same, Max now took the wise precaution of taking half a dozen or so steps, just to make sure, with Rob close beside, ready to grab hold of him in an instant to prevent Max falling to the floor, should this all turn out to be a false dawn. But, thankfully, there was no such need.

"What are we waiting for, for sure!" exclaimed Danny, climbing out of bed. The room before him swam and he clutched hard for the bed post.

"Are you sure you're well enough to get up," asked Rob, clearly alarmed.

"Yous sound just like Ma! Don"t fuss! I am, for sure! If I take it slowly".

Max grinned, placed a forefinger to his lips indicating the need for all of them to be quiet.

Having cautiously opened the bedroom door, Rob peered out into the darkened corridor to see that the coast was clear. Satisfied on this count, a couple of minutes later, the slow moving little cavalcade set off, bound for the distant kitchen: Max with Fritz held fast in his arms, and Danny keeping close to the wall of the passage, while, bringing up the rear, as a shepherd might do with his sheep, Rob kept a weather eye on both of them.

* * *

 **Somewhere in southeast Hungary, summer 1933.**

Here, close to the Roumanian border, the two motors purred slowly along the rutted road which led south to Rózsafa: that leading being the Maybach Zeppelin, much admired by Tom when first he had seen it at Rosenberg, driven as before by Manfred, with Eva seated beside him and now with Matthew and Mary, along with Tom, sharing the rear seat. The heavily laden second motor was another Maybach but a less powerful model, and driven by a chauffeur from off the estate, with Tibor sitting next to him, its boot crammed full with luggage loaded by the porters back at the railway station in Gyula.

Having left the town behind them, its castle, cathedral, and its churches now but a grey smudge on the distant horizon, the countryside hereabouts was much the same as that which Mary had glimpsed earlier from the express. Once again the same vast vistas, while here and there, to the right and to the left, another muddy track led off to another thatched, whitewashed, isolated farmstead, with its creaking, wooden sweep well standing out in the yard. Again, too, the same endless fields of wheat, scattered with scarlet poppies, the pale green leaves of Indian corn, and tobacco plants. And yet more grazing herds of sheep and cattle, watched over by their drovers, these wearing cloaks made from long matted fleeces.

Some of the houses stood on shallow, raised, wooden platforms, lifting them above the level of the surrounding plain and on some of these there sat women, all whom wore kerchiefs, aprons, and brightly embroidered smocks. Not that they were in any sense idle; far from it, for each was busily engaged in performing some household task, whether washing pots and pans, doing laundry, or preparing vegetables. At the last farm three women sat at spinning wheels, turning hanks of raw wool into fine woollen thread. Just below them, a handful of speckled hens pecked in the dirt for grubs, unperturbed by a flock of white geese who, angered by the noise of the passing motors, scuttled across the yard from a nearby pond, craning their necks forward and hissing noisily.

Whether drawn by horses or by else by oxen, in these parts carts easily outnumbered the motors. At one point, the two cars pulled off the road to allow the passage of a group of gypsies, their long, jolting, squeaking wagons piled high with all manner of household effects, along with chickens and geese crammed into wooden coops.

Here beside the road, elder, dog roses, and Old Man's Beard grew in riotous profusion, the sight of which reminded Mary of some of the rides she took round Downton. Suddenly, unaccountably so, she found herself thinking of the children; wondered what they were doing now. Remembered that Manfred had said that on their arrival at Rózsafa they might call Rosenberg. With this in mind, Mary made a mental note to herself to ensure that she spoke to all three of her brood, something which, if ever she and Matthew were away from Downton, whether up in London or elsewhere, Mary always left to Matthew who was so much better at conversing with them than she was herself.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

The three boys had just reached the head of the main staircase when Rob sensed there was someone behind them, dogging their footsteps.

"And just where are yous all going?" asked a voice from out of the darkness. A moment later and Saiorse appeared behind them on the lamp lit landing. Now, on catching sight of Danny, whom she had not seen since before his accident, she gasped. "What are yous doing out of bed?"  
"I'm grand, sis, for sure".

"Yous don't look grand to me". She reached forward; gently touched his bandaged head.

"Well, I am".

"Down to the kitchen for something to eat," explained Rob in answer to Saiorse's question although he might just as well have been invisible for all the notice she took of him. As far as Saiorse was concerned her beloved brother Danny had been badly injured while that reprobate Robert had come out of the whole affair without so much as a scratch; Saiorse being singularly unaware of the part Rob had played in helping the others to traverse the break in the stairs back at the old tower.

"Then, I'm coming too," announced Saiorse.

The three boys looked from one to the other.

"Sis, it's ... er ... like this ..." began Danny hesitantly; he was about to explain that this expedition was for the three of them alone but seeing the look on his sister's face, he now fell silent. It was just as well that he did.

"Well, it's either that or else I'll go and tell Ma!"

* * *

 **Somewhere in southeast Hungary, summer 1933.**

The gypsy cavalcade wound on its way, dwindling into the distance, while above the two stationary motors a sudden beat of wings caused Mary to look upwards in alarm to see, against a rapidly darkening sky, a stork swooping low overhead before soaring off to land atop a huge nest built amid the skeletal rafters of a ruined barn. Seeing Mary glance up, and seeing for herself the threatening colour of the sky, Eva was quick to reassure all of them that they would reach Rózsafa long before it began to rain. Not that Mary paid Eva's pronouncement much attention; she herself had other things to think about which were of far more import than a few drops of rain.

Back in Gyula, when Tibor had stepped out into the afternoon sunlight from beneath the station canopy, Mary had thought she would faint. What on earth was he doing here? True, up at the Fisherman's Bastion, back in Budapest, he had told her that he knew of Rózsafa, but he had said nothing to her at all of his intention to visit. And if he had planned to do so, why had he failed to mention it? And just how had he contrived to be here? At least to that question, Mary now had an answer, from something that Eva had let slip amidst her constant chatter about whom they would all soon be meeting. Along with several other house guests from far distant Budapest, it transpired that Tibor had arrived at Rózsafa by aeroplane.

And, something else struck Mary as strange. While both Matthew and Tom had seemed just as surprised as was she to see Tibor, for all that, Mary could not rid herself of the feeling that what she had seen unfold there before her on the station platform at Gyula had in some way been an elaborate charade. But if so, why?

Not long after the encounter with the gypsies, having rumbled over a wooden bridge, below which ran a swiftly flowing stream, bordered by purple and yellow flags, Manfred turned the Maybach off the road and, followed by the second motor, drove slowly up a long drive lined with magnificent magnolia trees, the still summer air heady with the scent of their blossoms.

Ahead, at the far end of the drive, yet still some way off, Mary caught sight of the white walls of a house:

Rózsafa.

 **Author's Note:**

Then, as now, Curtici was a major border crossing. At the time of the story, given Hungary's avowed intention to try and regain Transylvania, ceded to Roumania by the Treaty of Trianon, the Roumanians only permitted crossing of the border by train.

Opened in 1914, the Athénée Palace Hotel (now the Athénée Palace Hilton) was immortalised in Olivia Manning's bestseller _The Balkan Trilogy._ In the 1930s both the hotel and its English Bar were renowned as meeting places for spies.

Droshkies - the horse drawn carriages for which Bucharest was then famous.

At this period, on account of its sophistication, its bars, cafés, and restaurants, Bucharest was dubbed the "Paris of the East".

The Capsa Brasserie on the Calea Victoriei was a well known eating place.

Linienschiffsleutnant: Lieutenant Commander.

Count János Almásy (1893-1968). A bisexual, Hungarian aristocrat, whose tastes included sadomasochism. While few may have heard of him, the lead character in the novel and film, "The English Patient", was based on his younger brother László (1895-1951).

Károly - the Hungarian rendition of Karl.

Redesdale: David Bertram Ogilvy Freeman-Mitford, 2nd Baron Redesdale (1878-1958). An impoverished English aristocrat and father of the well known Mitford sisters.

Rothermere: Harold Sidney Harmsworth, 1st Viscount Rothermere, PC (1868-1940). A leading British newspaper proprietor and owner of Associated Newspapers Ltd who supported a revision of the Treaty of Trianon in favour of the Kingdom of Hungary. In June 1927 he published an editorial in the _Daily Mail_ , entitled "Hungary's Place in the Sun", in which he supported a detailed plan to restore to Hungary lands she had lost at the end of the Great War. The article was very well received in Hungary.

Unity Mitford (1914-1948) a socialite and one of the Mitford sisters. Virulently anti Semitic, renowned for her adulation of and alleged affair with Adolf Hitler, her sexual depravity was well known. It is said she lost her virginity to her brother-in-law, the British Fascist leader, Sir Oswald Moseley, as well as later taking part in a sado-masochistic encounter with János Almásy (who also had a relationship with Unity's bisexual brother Tom) and being a willing participant in orgies with Nazi SS officers.

Tom Mitford (1909-1945) killed on active service towards the end of WWII was the only boy in the Mitford family. In the 1930s, he stayed regularly with aristocratic friends in Roumania.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Arrival At Rózsafa

 **Rózsafa, southeast Hungary, summer 1933.**

Midst the heady, sweet-smelling scent of the heavy blossoms of the over arching magnolia trees, Manfred drove the Maybach on up the long drive, towards the white walled house, which Mary had glimpsed but a few moments earlier.

Just ahead of the two cars, and trudging slowly in the same direction, were a group of men from off the estate, all wearing black hats, white embroidered shirts and baggy trousers tucked into leather boots, each man carrying an enormous scythe, the long wooden handle of which was balanced neatly on his right shoulder. Hearing the sound of the approaching motors, the men all paused, then turned to watch the passage of the two cars up the drive. At the same time all respectfully doffed their caps, calling out yet again the same greeting which, since leaving Gyula, those riding in the Maybach had heard repeated several times already.

"Isten aldjs! Isten aldjs!"

And which, Eva had told them, meant "God bless you".

* * *

"All the world's a stage ... and one man in his time plays many parts," observed Matthew quietly, gazing upwards towards the sky; the remark made more to himself than for the benefit of anyone else in the motor.

"I beg your pardon?" asked Mary, turning her head.

"Shakespeare, he said softly".

"Yes, darling, I **know** it's Shakespeare, she retorted, in a tone which was rather more peremptory than she had intended, although, given the circumstances, Mary thought she could be forgiven.

Not that Matthew seemed to mind or notice that she had been short with him. And, even if he had, he gave no sign of it. Instead, he simply patted her hand; changed the subject. "What a beautiful place this is". He nodded in turn towards the avenue of trees, alive with birdsong, and the distant white walls of the house. "Oh, I say, will you look at that!" Matthew pointed to where a peacock was displaying the iridescent blue and green plumage of its long tail feathers. Mary couldn't understand it. Matthew never took the slightest interest in wildlife.

* * *

Eva turned her head and smiled.

"We have several here. They're quite the thing with darling, little Max. And we've turtle doves too". As if to support what Eva had just said, before them, a flight of doves now fluttered grey across the darkening sky. But even if Mary and Tom were listening to what it was Eva had to say, Matthew wasn't. In his mind he was miles away, thinking back to when he and Tom had last met Tibor, now riding in the car trailing in their wake. That had been at ...

* * *

 **Keleti Railway Station, Budapest, Hungary, several hours earlier.**

"I'm sorry for all the subterfuge, but I trust you will understand me, when I tell you, that it was absolutely necessary".

"Entirely. There's no need at all for you to apologise".

Here, at the far end of the platform, in the man standing before them beside the locomotive there remained, at least for the time being, no trace whatsoever of the smartly turned out cavalry officer who rode beside the Regent of Hungary as part of His Escort. The light blue shako with its jaunty yellow plume and gold braided hussar's uniform were no more and in their place Tibor wore a greasy cap and a pair of oil stained overalls.

"And Mary? Do you trust her?"

"Of course. Implicitly. Otherwise I wouldn't have let her ..." Matthew paused. "You know of course there never was any question of ..." He gave Tibor a rueful smile.

"I know".

"But the question I find I keep asking myself is, when all of this is over, will **she** ever trust **me** again?"

"She will. I'm certain of it".

"Perhaps," said Matthew equitably.

"Matthew, it's time we were on our way, for sure". Tom nodded towards the station clock, the hands of which showed it was now five to eleven with the express scheduled to depart promptly on the hour.

Tibor glanced up.

"Yes. And if I'm to catch that 'plane from the airfield out at Mátyásföld, in time to be at Rózsafa well before you arrive at Gyula, then I need to leave now".

Then, before going their separate ways, Tibor to make his way to Mátyásföld, and Matthew and Tom to board the express, the three men quickly shook hands.

* * *

As they headed back down the platform, Tom turned to Matthew.

"What yous said back there ... about Mary ... is there something yous haven't told me?"

There was of course, but now was not the time for further confidences.

Matthew was disingenuous in his reply

"No. Not at all. Why ever would you think that? You, of all people?"  
"No matter. Grand, I'm very glad to hear yous say so, for sure.

* * *

 **Rózsafa, southeast Hungary, several hours later.**

Had Tibor meant what he had written? Any of it? Mary's brows knitted in confusion.

 _No doubt Byron or Shelley would put it far better but this is not a time for their words._ _I can only write what is in my heart._ _You know that I love you but of itself that gives me no claim upon you. Neither can I give you any assurance that I could make you happy. It would be arrogant of me to assume that I could do so. You have your life and I have ..."_

And, even before that, upstairs in the sunlit bedroom of the house on the Uri utca, when she had made it perfectly clear that she was unwilling to take matters further, Tibor himself had seemed somehow ... relieved. _All the world's a stage_ ...

Seated between Matthew and Tom, Mary could make no sense of any of it. None at all.

* * *

Mary shook her head. In so doing, she caught sight of her Irish brother-in-law reaching inside his jacket and taking out his wallet. From this Tom now drew a faded black and white photograph and with it a neatly folded piece of paper which, by its dog eared state, and also the fact that it was yellowed with age, must, like the photograph, have been in Tom's wallet for a very long time. Having unfolded the piece of paper, Mary saw him scan its contents, words written in Sybil's own firm hand, the ink faded to sepia. Sensing Mary's eyes were upon him, Tom turned and smiled. But when he offered her the photograph for closer inspection, at least to begin with, Mary demurred.

"Go on, take it".

"No, I couldn't possibly".

"I shall be offended if you don't!"

"Well, if you're certain. You don't mind?"  
"No, for sure. Taken on Howth Head, on the north side of Dublin Bay, back in June 1919; just after we arrived in Ireland". There was no mistaking the wistful tone in his voice; Mary being only too well aware of just how much Tom was missing both Sybil and the children.

The photograph showed a laughing, young Sybil - judging by the blurred trees in the background it had been blowing a gale at the time - with her hat rammed firmly on her head, wearing a dress which, if Mary remembered it a right, had been electric blue in colour and bought up in town, at Liberty's, just before the war. That being so, it was already five years out of date but by this time, with other more pressing matters to think about, Sybil was no longer as fashion conscious as had once been the case. Were we all ever that young? thought Mary. As if reading her thoughts, Tom tapped the photograph.

"A long time ago, for sure. Not that Sybil's changed. At least not to me she hasn't. A windy spot that, the Head, to be sure!" he said, now handing Mary the piece of paper with its faded writing, and which turned out to be a poem.

 ** _The fountains mingle with the river_**

 ** _And the rivers with the ocean,_**

 ** _The winds of heaven mix for ever_**

 ** _With a sweet emotion;_**

 ** _Nothing in the world is single;_**

 ** _All things by a law divine_**

 ** _In one spirit meet and mingle._**

 ** _Why not I with thine?_**

 ** _See the mountains kiss high heaven_**

 ** _And the waves clasp one another;_**

 ** _No sister-flower would be forgiven_**

 ** _If it disdained its brother;_**

 ** _And the sunlight clasps the earth_**

 ** _And the moonbeams kiss the sea:_**

 ** _What is all this sweet work worth_**

 ** _If thou kiss not me?_**

Mary's eyes misted.

"It's beautiful," she said, softly, before handing the treasured photograph and the equally precious piece of paper back to Tom.

"Love's Philosophy" by Percy Bysshe Shelley; Sybil's favourite poet," he said, as if quoting from memory, before, with infinite care, replacing both items safely back in his wallet and it in turn inside his jacket; remembering, drifting back down the years, to a far distant lamplit bedroom on the western shore of the Irish Sea.

* * *

 **Clontarf, County Dublin, Ireland, June 1919.**

At the sound of a board creaking, Tom half turned in his chair. Looked hesitantly towards the door of his room, to see, standing by the door, Sybil, in her ivory white night gown and lace shawl, her dark hair, like spun ebony, spilling down over her shoulders. Tom himself froze mesmerised by this vision of loveliness. If he says anything now, thought Sybil, I won't be able to go through with this.

The tableau shattered. For, so as to forestall him, Sybil moved forward out of the lengthening shadows, swiftly closing the short distance between them, coming to stand beside his desk. Setting down his pen, Tom gazed up at her, wondering, half fearful of what she might say.

"I promised to let you know my decision in the morning," she said softly, her voice scarcely above the level of a whisper.

Dumbly, Tom nodded.

"Well then. Tomorrow's too long a time, Tom". Sybil looked down at him.

There was, he thought, an elusive quality in her voice, something off-key. It suggested what? Anger, disillusionment, mockery, rejection, or … Tom thought he saw a slight smile play about the corners of her mouth. With Sybil's next words, he knew his eyes had not deceived him.

"My love, I gave you my answer in the garage at Downton. And nothing … nothing which passed between us earlier tonight has changed that. Did you really think it would?"

"Yous mean you still …"

"… love you and want to marry you? Yes, my darling. More than ever. I fell in love with Tom Branson, not the Master of Skerries. All I want … all I've ever wanted ... is **you**. Do you remember what I said, that very first day here in Dublin, when you saw what the British army had done? About us being the future? Tom, I meant what I said. Every word of it. Losing both your parents, at such a young age, was awful for you, the way you were treated at Skerries by those who should have cared for you was terrible, what you suffered here in Dublin before you found a home in Clontarf with Ma, with Ciaran and all the rest, that too, my darling is in the past. Let it remain there. Let it go. Whatever you may think, none of it has any claim on you; nor on us. We, my love, what we make of our life together, **we** are the future".

The warmth in her voice was proof both of her sincerity and of the depth of her love.

"Jaysus", Tom said at length, his eyes bright and glistening. "I don't deserve yous. Sybil".

Then, as she stood before him, clad in nothing more than her nightgown and shawl, bathed in the warm glow of lamplight, slowly, and ever more earnestly, Tom began to pay spoken homage to her as a woman; as his soul mate.

As she basked in Tom's open adoration, Sybil knew that no-one else could have spoken to her in the way in which Tom was speaking to her now. Could never imagine her father speaking to her mother like this. Nor and - here she smiled - certainly not, for all his urbanity and outward sophistication, Sir Richard Carlisle, to her sister, Mary.

"You're beautiful, Sybil. You're all a man …" Tom paused. "All **this** man could ever want in a woman".

Down to the very end of their lives, both would remember the intimacy of this scene, played out in the stillness of Tom's bedroom, at the top of the house in Clontarf, on the western shore of the Irish Sea. Subconsciously, each had become aware, painfully so, of the physical need they had of the other. That indefinable something which began to draw them closer, and yet closer still, right from their very first meeting at Downton, and which had led, inexorably, to this single moment.

As Tom finished speaking, in an entirely spontaneous, unintentionally sexually charged gesture, completely unaware of the effect it would have on him, Sybil let go her lace shawl, allowing it slip from her shoulders and fall to the floor. Reaching for her, Tom drew Sybil willingly down into his lap. Settled there, within the circle of his strong arms, she felt his lips hot and eager against her own. Now gave herself up to the fire within him, letting Tom burn kisses along the curving line of her jaw, down into the hollow of her throat, lower still to the cool softness of her shoulders; she in turn kissing his forehead, his eyes, the tip of his nose, his lips, and his cheeks, over and over again.

Their kisses grew deeper.

Ever more passionate.

Suddenly, and with a pressing need of her own, Sybil began tugging Tom's vest out of his trousers, before slipping her hands beneath it, caressing his skin. Grasping hold of the bottom of his vest, she then pulled it upwards; began kissing his bare chest and nipples. Realising what she intended, Tom broke free.

No they mustn't.

Not yet.

It had never been **his** intention to seduce **her** , but now here she was, so warm and lovely in his arms. Jaysus! Surely it could never have been **her** intention to seduce **him**?

"Sybil … love … I … don't … think … we … should …" Tom's stammered words were silenced swiftly by the passionate nature of her kisses. Realising that after years of denial they had reached the point of no return, a decision had to be made. One they would have to live with, for better or for ill.

And make it they did.

Together.

A silent private message passed between them. They had no need of words.

Scarcely allowing their lips to part, even for an instant, reaching behind him, Tom pulled his vest quickly over his head and flung it to the floor. Her dark eyes, deep and fathomless, Sybil smiled. Gently, she began running her fingers over Tom's half naked body, kneading the firm muscles in his broad shoulders, his back, playing with the patch of soft fine light hairs which nestled in the middle of his chest, before slipping her hands still lower, to where the line of hairs thickened, darkened, before they disappeared out of view beneath his trousers. The touch of her fingers on Tom's skin was electric, while for Sybil, unimagined feelings began searing through her; stirring sensations almost unbearable in their intensity.

Again Tom's lips sought hers, all but crushing them with the intensity of his ardour, his hands cupping her swelling breasts, squeezing her taut nipples, caressing her thighs, probing gently between her legs through the flimsy, virginal whiteness of her nightgown.

Tom gasped at what she did next as, through the cloth of his trousers, Sybil first found, then grasped the hard, swelling proof of his own need of her. Momentarily shamed, Tom blushed. "I'm sorry, love, I can't help …"

"Don't be!" moaned Sybil; her voice was husky, almost inaudible. Oh, **how** she wanted him. Any embarrassment, any prudishness she might once have felt about matters sexual or towards the male of the species had long since vanished as a result of what, as a nurse, she had seen during the war. Now it was her soft mouth seeking his; she twisting round in Tom's arms, tangling the two of them in the tresses of her dark hair. The erotic intimacy of his caresses increased, Sybil arching herself against him, and with a sudden, involuntary drawing in of breath, then uttering a cry of ecstasy that, as she said his name, slurred it beyond all recognition.

And when at last Tom carried Sybil the few short steps to the waiting bed, neither could have said which had been the leader in this and which the led.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

"Well, all right, sis. But for feck's sake, keep your voice down, for sure!"

"Danny, don't swear," admonished Saiorse primly.

"Jaysus!"

"Da would tan your hide, if he was here".

"Well he isn't! And no he wouldn't. He's never laid a finger on any of us!"

Saiorse coloured; knowing that Danny spoke only the plain, simple truth. Da was easy going; it was Ma they had to watch out for.

While this exchange between brother and sister was taking place, for his part, Max was eyeing the flight of steps leading down to the hall with increasing trepidation. Although his knee felt perfectly fine, taking a few steps in the bedroom and then walking down the passage was one thing. But tackling a marble staircase so soon after regaining the ability to walk unaided for the first time in many days, where the treads could be slippery, was an entirely different matter; especially with Fritz in his arms.

Not wanting to fall out with her adored elder brother, Saiorse fell silent. Then, as she saw Max pausing at the head of the stairs, only now did Saiorse realise that her Austrian cousin was no longer using his crutches.

"Max! You're walking!"  
"Yes. But ..." He nodded towards the stairs; looked down at Fritz held fast in his arms.

"Would you like me to carry him for you?"

"If you don't mind".

"No, of course not, for sure".

Held fast in Max's arms, on hearing his name mentioned, Fritz opened first one and then the other of his dark brown eyes. His young master excepted, it was the dachshund's long held opinion that all other children were nasty, noisy, naughty things who patted and pulled at him when all he wanted was to be left alone. Fritz looked up and, as Saiorse now reached out for him, it was the sight of that particular pair of hands that caused memory to stir in Fritz's fertile little brain. If he was not very much mistaken, the girl who now held her arms outstretched to receive him was the same young female of the species whom he had encountered for the first time last year when he had been snoozing under a luggage trolley at the Gare Maritime in Calais. Until now, he had not made the connection. And, unfortunately for Saiorse, Fritz's own recollection of that particular meeting did not endear the girl to him. _Here we go again_ , Fritz thought. _Pass the ruddy parcel_. Still, he was nothing if not pragmatic. If this was the price he had to pay so as to avoid the discomfort of traversing by himself yet another flight of stairs - in Fritz's opinion there was nothing to choose between going up or down, with his short legs both were equally bad, then so be it.

Now with Saiorse in tow, the boys prepared to set off again.

While Max and Saiorse stayed put at the top of the stairs, with Rob beside him, Danny went first, keeping a firm hold on the marble handrail. Then, with Danny safely down in the hall, Rob trotted back up to the landing, before turning and shadowing Max in his own slow descent of the main staircase while, with Fritz in her arms, Saiorse brought up the rear.

Down in the hall, hearing the word _kitchen_ mentioned yet again, little Fritz sighed. If it was at all possible for him to be so, he became even more unamused. For, having taken the greatest pains in making his way upstairs and seeking out his young master, now here he was on his way back down to the kitchen from whence he had started. All things being equal, Fritz thought he might just as well have stayed put where he was.

* * *

 **Rózsafa, southeast Hungary, later that same day.**

The Maybach drifted out of the trees, slowed, and then drew to a stand, followed moments later by the second motor which did likewise. And, there before them, backed by orchards and surrounded on all sides by a broad vista of wheat fields, awash with scarlet poppies, that stretched as far as the eye could see, the summer air laden with the scent of apples and new mown hay, still bathed in the glow of glorious afternoon sunshine, stood Rózsafa.

When they were at Rosenberg, Eva had told them that, following the loss of Transylvania to Roumania, the estate at Rózsafa had been much reduced in size. That the house itself was was nothing special; that with money short, repairs were long overdue, and the furnishings faded. At the time, Mary had thought Eva was being disingenuous but then, having heard much the same tale of woe from Tibor in Budapest concerning the loss of his family's estate at Serény and seen for herself the house on Uri Utca falling into decay, Mary was now prepared to accept Eva's word.

While their luggage was being unloaded, joined by Tibor, Matthew, Mary, and Tom stood looking up at the house. Decayed or not, Rózsafa was breath taking. With its broad, shingled roofs and low tower, the ridges and turrets topped by a profusion of onion shaped copper domes that glinted in the sunlight, together with a wide wooden columned verandah approached by a broad flight of stone steps, it looked for all the world as if a _dacha_ from the steppes of Russia had been transported here and set down on the edge of the Great Hungarian Plain. And which, was not so very far from the truth of what in fact had happened. For, while the rest of the house was much older, this wing had been rebuilt, early in the eighteenth century, to welcome home a Russian bride of one of Eva's ancestors. Not that it worked, said Eva; the poor girl had died in childbirth within a year of her arrival.

A moment later, Tom turned to his sister-in-law.

"Mary, there's something you need to know ...," he began. However, before he could tell her what that was, Eva called to him from where she and Manfred were standing beside the motors.

"Tom, darling, I quite forgot to tell you. There's someone here who's positively dying to meet you".

"Oh?" Tom raised a quizzical eyebrow. "And just who might that be, for sure?"

"Well, she's only just arrived, along with her brother. Rather confusingly, he's also called Tom. They were staying with mutual friends, across the border in Roumania".

"Really?"

"Yes. There she is! Unity!" Eva beckoned to a tall blonde haired girl, striking rather than beautiful, although once seen she would never be forgotten, standing on the uppermost of the flight of steps. "Darling, what did I tell you? Here he is, Tom Branson". Moving closer, Eva laid a proprietorial hand on Tom's left shoulder before turning back to speak to the group of people now gathered together out on the verandah. "First things first. Everybody, may I present, all the way from England, the earl and countess of Grantham ... Matthew and Mary ... and their brother-in-law, the newspaper editor, Mr. Branson ... Tom".

Mary's eyes narrowed.

This was not the way things were done.

At least not in England.

Eva's introduction had made the three of them sound as if they were some kind of circus act; a troupe of clowns perhaps, or else a trio of performing seals. Were they expected to sing for their supper? If so, Eva could jolly well think again. Not that anyone seemed to mind in the slightest. But while everyone else nodded their heads or else raised their hands in friendly welcome, some indeed did both, it became perfectly clear that the young woman whom Eva had hallooed wasn't listening to her hostess make her introductions of those newly arrived. For, while Eva was still speaking, the woman made her way down the front steps of the house and strode purposefully over to where they were standing. As she drew level with Tom, for his part, he did only what good manners dictated; smiled and held out his right hand. He thought she must be about twenty, possibly a little younger although, with all of that skilfully applied make up, it was difficult to be certain. That would make her ... Tom did a hurried mental calculation ... only a handful of years older than darling Saiorse.

Completely disregarding his outstretched hand, the girl moved in close and kissed Tom full on the mouth with, although only he was aware of it, her tongue insistently probing while, up on the verandah, the shutter of a camera clicked. The girl stepped back; saw clearly, and with evident satisfaction too, the consternation etched on Tom's face.

"Unity Mitford".

"T... Tom Branson," he stammered.

Hearing the girl introduce herself, Matthew grimaced. Since his elevation to the peerage back in '31, he had encountered Lord Redesdale in the House on a handful of occasions, although never spoken with him. Apparently, few had. Then, several months ago, while Matthew and Mary had been staying at the Sulyards, down at Nether Stow Hall in Oxfordshire, Redesdale and his wife, both of whom were considered to be decidedly eccentric, had been among the house guests. Not that the two couples exchanged more than the usual pleasantries. Eccentricity apart, they belonged to different generations, Matthew's Liberal views were well known, and with Mary being decidedly apolitical, the Crawleys found that they had nothing at all in common with the Redesdales' anti-Semitic, Right Wing views. The only mutuality was Redesdale and Mary's passion for riding.

As for their offspring, it transpired that the elder Mitford children were just as unconventional as their parents; in and out of the gossip columns, involved with the _Bright Young Things_ , parties till dawn, and so forth. And recently, or so it was being rumoured, one of the daughters, Diana, married to the heir of Lord Moyne, had left her husband, by whom she had two young sons, and was having an affair with the British Fascist leader, Sir Oswald Moseley, whose wife Cynthia had just died of peritonitis.

Still smiling, Unity now did what Tom had done a moment earlier and held out her right hand.

"May I call you, Tom?"

"What? Er, why, yes. Of course," he replied, weakly.

"You must forgive Unity, she's rather ... gauche when it comes to the social graces," whispered Eva.

"Really?" Mary raised an expressive eyebrow, now recalling Matthew's earlier pithy comments regarding the antics of the Mitford girls. "She looks to be in perfect command of them now!"

Standing beside Tom, the closest observer, save of course for himself, as to what it was that had happened, Mary thought she had never seen her brother-in-law so completely flustered, so thoroughly taken aback. After all, Tom was always so confident, so self assured. A moment later and Tom deftly regained control of the situation. Firmly grasping the girl's outstretched hand, but in so doing also contriving to keep her at arm's length, Tom wiped the back of his free hand across his lips; something which Unity could not have failed to notice. Not that it seemed to disconcert her; indeed, quite the reverse. A knowing smile played about the corners of her heavily lipsticked mouth.

"Do you know what ... Tom?" Unity simpered.

"What?" he asked drily; his blue eyes usually so bright, so alive, now cold and dark.

"I think the two of us are going to be the very greatest of friends".

"Do yous really? Do yous, for sure?"

A moment later and it began to rain.

 **Author's Note:**

"All the world's a stage ..." William Shakespeare, _As You Like It_ , Act II, Scene VII.

Mátyásföld - the oldest airfield in Budapest which lay just a few miles from the centre of the city.

Liberty's - a famous department store in London - founded in 1875.

For what happened to Tom as a boy, see _Home Is Where The Heart Is._

For the first encounter between Fritz and Saiorse, see _The Rome Express_ , Chapter 15.

"... in the House ..." - the House of Lords.

The _Bright Young Things -_ a nickname bestowed on a group of young aristocrats and socialites in 1920s London, renowned for their decadent, hedonistic lifestyle.

At the time, the marital situation of Diana Guiness, née Mitford, was as described.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Distant Drums

 **Drawing Room, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

Some time later Friedrich returned to the Drawing Room where, having ensured that he had closed the door firmly behind him, he resumed his seat on the sofa next to his wife.

"So, what did Conrad have to say?" asked Edith who, along with Sybil, was impatient to learn the outcome of Friedrich's lengthy late night conversation with his old comrade in arms from the Great War.

Of course, Edith knew Friedrich's war service off by heart. Not only because of what he himself had told her, often when they were under canvas, or else sitting together round a glowing camp fire, out on a dig in the Near East. But also from listening to the tales Friedrich spun here at Rosenberg, for a wide eyed young Max, confined to bed following yet another bout of bleeding.

The camaraderie between Friedrich and Conrad stretched back to almost the very beginning of the war; to September 1914 when, as a pair of eager, neophyte fighter pilots in the _Kaiserliche und Königliche Luftfahrtruppen_ , the two had met for the very first time. Once they had completed their training, they had been posted to the airfield at Koledzyani, close to Narajów, where they saw service in the skies over Eastern Galicia, against the might of the _Императорскiй военно-воздушный флотъ_ , the grandly named Imperial Russian Air Service.

However, as Conrad remarked pithily to Friedrich one evening a few months later, having undertaken yet another reconnaissance patrol, following a decidedly meagre meal made palatable only by a bottle of vodka which they had _liberated_ from off of an abandoned farm cart, it was fortunate that the imposing title of their enemy belied the fact that the Russians were no match for them. The majority of the Russian pilots were poorly trained and most of their aircraft were so obsolete that they should never have been permitted to fly.

Thereafter, both men served together again, this time along the tortuous border which snaked its way for hundreds of kilometres between the Austro-Hungarian Empire and the Kingdom of Italy. Here the enemy were the pilots of the _Corpo Aeronautico Militare_ , of the _Regio Esercito Italiano_ who, to begin with, proved just as useless as the Russians; hampered by their French built machines which could not take off and climb quickly enough to bring their Austrian opponents to bay. The Italians' lack of ground observers and aeroplane spotters, so vital in giving early warning of the approach of enemy aircraft, only compounded the difficulties they faced. So, at least for a while, Friedrich, Conrad, and their chums, had things much their own way.

Eventually, however, the tide of the war turned in favour of the Italians and it was as a result of this that here, on the Isonzo Front, over the Julian Alps, in an almost forgotten theatre of the aerial fighting, that Friedrich undertook an act of supreme bravery which saw him single-handedly engage in a dogfight against a squadron of Italian Nieuport 11s. An unequal contest but one that honour demanded he undertake to prevent the shooting down of a fellow pilot, Hans Weber who was struggling to control his already badly damaged machine. Recommended for a decoration by his commanding officer, Friedrich was awarded the Military Merit Cross with swords conferred on him by His Imperial and Royal Apostolic Majesty, Karl, Emperor of Austria, Apostolic King of Hungary and Croatia, Slavonia and Dalmatia, who had died in exile, in 1922, on the remote island of Madeira, far out in the wilds of the Atlantic Ocean.

"All in good time. But, first, something of what is afoot has come to the attention of certain individuals in Bucharest".

""Oh my God!" Did Conrad say who?"

"No. He had to be rather ... guarded in what he told me. Just in case the telephone at his hotel was being listened in to. The Athénée has a certain ... reputation in that regard. But from what I could gather, certain _highly placed_ individuals in the Roumanian government. Anything that might threaten that country's annexation of Transylvania immediately sets the alarm bells ringing in Bucharest. Conrad's going to speak with Bruno tomorrow to see what they can devise".

"Bruno?"  
"Yes, Bruno Salvatore. You remember. He served as Helmut Kainz's observer until late in '17, when Kainz was shot down and killed. During that last spring of the war Bruno then qualified as a pilot. Had it not been for the fact that by then we were so desperately short of pilots, I don't suppose the opportunity would ever have come his way. And now, just like Conrad, Bruno's there in Bucharest, helping to train their pilots".

"Does Conrad think he will be able to land at Rózsafa?"

"Yes. During the war he managed to pitch down safely on much worse terrain, so that in itself should present no problem. All the same ..."

" _All the same_?"

"It rather depends ..."  
"On what?"

"If Conrad can lay his hands on a 'plane".  
"Does he think he can?"

Friedrich nodded.

"He thought there would be no problem, as he put it ... _arranging the motor_. But before that, a message has to be got through to Matthew and the others at Rózsafa, without alerting anyone else there as to what is planned".

"But how do we do that?" asked Sybil, clasping her hands together so tightly that her nails dug painfully into her palms.

"It so happens that there we are in luck. Conrad is a relation of the Waldsteins. A distant cousin maybe but a relative nonetheless. And, over there, in Hungary, blood ties count for a very great deal".

"Who on earth are the Waldsteins?" asked Edith.

"The family which owns Erdőtelek".

"Erdőtelek?"  
"The estate bordering Rózsafa to the north. Apparently, some of the guests from house party at Rózsafa are staying there, so it should be possible to make discrete contact with a member of the family who is well disposed and can be trusted to do what is required".

At last then, a glimmer of hope.

"And if that can be done ..." Sybil chewed her bottom lip; glanced nervously over at Edith.

"Then, perhaps we're in with a chance; to rescue all of them. Have Matthew, Mary, and Tom spirited safely away from Rózsafa before anything ... untoward happens. As for Manfred and Eva, I can't believe they have been so foolish to become mixed up in all of this!" Friedrich shook his head in disbelief.

"What do you mean, _before anything untoward happens_?"

For a moment, Friedrich said nothing.

The silence lengthened.

"Friedrich?" prompted Edith.

"As I told you, certain people in the Roumanian government are well aware of what is being planned. So too, the authorities in Budapest. Not that they know every detail, but I suspect the Hungarians have enough information to have a very shrewd idea of what is going on. It's Conrad's belief that they intend making a move sooner rather than later so as to nip this would-be coup in the bud".

"How ever did they find out?"  
"It doesn't matter _how_ they found out. Accept it that they _have_. After all, with these sort of things, sooner or later, news of what is afoot eventually becomes known. Apparently, the Hungarian government has an informant at Rózsafa. Someone secreted among the house party. They are waiting only for his ... or her ... word before sending in their own troops, detaining all those involved, and seizing any munitions they find".

"Heavens!"

"Quite. I suppose those hotheads at Rózsafa believe they are acting in the best interests of Hungary; not realising nor caring that what they are about could so easily end up becoming another shot that is then heard around the world!"

"You don't mean another war?"  
Friedrich nodded.

"I hope to God I'm wrong but, yes, I do. Now, while the landing at Rózsafa should present no difficulty, the question still remains as to whether it is to be attempted in daylight or else under the cover of darkness. Of course, the former would be preferable, there then being no need to see to the lighting of flares. That apart, there should also be no danger of coming under shell fire".

" **Shell fire**?"

"From Hungarian field artillery," said Friedrich; his tone matter-of-fact.

" **Field artillery**? God in Heaven!" Edith was horrified.

"Yes. Following the Trianon treaty, the Allies saw to it that Hungary's military forces were considerably reduced; there then being strict rules concerning the amount and kind of armaments permitted to the government in Budapest. Or rather, I should say, there were. Some years ago, the Allies withdrew their military observers from Hungary. And ever since then there have been unsubstantiated rumours that Horthy's government has been secretly re-arming. According to Conrad, those rumours are in fact true".

That a landing on the grass airstrip at Rózsafa might be opposed, and steadfastly so, by the use of military force on the part of the Hungarians had never even crossed her mind. And it was only now that Edith came to realise that in her earnest desire to be of help, just how glib the remark she had made, of offering to fly in and rescue Matthew and the others herself, must have sounded. Making it appear that she was treating the whole matter as if it was nothing more than a jaunt, a spectacle to entertain the crowds at some barnstorming event, rather than something which might touch off another world war. What had she been thinking? How could she have been so naïve?

"I see," said Edith tersely.

"As I tried to tell you, attempting to fly across the Roumanian border and touching down in Hungary won't be at all like the time you managed to land the de Havilland under fire at Ur during that bout of tribal trouble in Mesopotamia".

At this most startling revelation, Sybil looked to Edith for some form of enlightenment. As the eldest of the Crawley girls, barring Mama giving birth to a male heir, Mary's future had been decided almost from the moment she was born; that whomsoever she married, her life would be spent at Downton. Yet, despite Sybil having chosen to live her life the way she wanted, first by marrying the man she loved, irrespective of the fact that he had been her family's chauffeur, thereafter working as a nurse, and raising a family across the sea in Ireland, it seemed that of them all, Edith was the one who had led the most adventurous life. All of which, at least until last year, when they had met up in Calais and then travelled down to Florence together on board the Rome Express, had remained completely unknown to her two sisters.

"It was nothing, really," said Edith. Her tone was self-deprecating.

Friedrich smiled.

"Liebling, it was a damn sight more than that; as well you know!"

"So, aren't you going to tell me?" persisted Sybil.

Edith shook her head.

"Now isn't the time, darling. Later, perhaps. When all of this is over".

And with that, given the circumstances in which they found themselves, Sybil had no alternative but to be content.

* * *

 **Rózsafa, southeast Hungary, the following afternoon.**

Clearly, this was no passing shower. As the sky continued to darken, with the rain growing ever heavier by the minute, those gathered together in front of the house now moved swiftly inside. Evidently completely unconcerned by what had just taken place, dodging the pools of water forming in the gravel of the drive, Unity scurried towards the foot of the steps leading to the kastély. She was followed closely by Manfred and Eva, along with Tibor. A moment later and all three of them had re-joined the others of the party standing on the verandah, and who themselves had now begun to disperse inside the house. A few paces behind the others, as they reached the foot of the steps, Mary gently caught hold of Tom's sleeve.

"Darling, are you all right?" she whispered, obviously concerned, slipping her arm through his.

"Grand, for sure," replied Tom as he watched Unity's retreating form disappear within the house. But he did so through gritted teeth; his spoken words clearly at variance with what Mary now saw registered in his face which was a mixture of both disgust and revulsion. Together, arm in arm, Tom and Mary made their way briskly up the steps and onto the verandah, where they were immediately out of the rain, waiting their turn as the other guests trooped inside the house.

"Just what was it you wanted to tell me?" whispered Mary, letting go of Tom's arm.

"Eh?"

"Tom, darling, a moment ago, you said there was something I needed to know". Mary nodded towards the two motors where, despite the rain, as well as his lack of either an umbrella or raincoat, Matthew was, with some difficulty, seeking to retrieve a small valise from the hands of a liveried man servant who clearly had his orders and who, at least to begin with, was unwilling to relinquish the case into Matthew's care.

Tom shook his head.

"It was nothing, for sure. Forget I ever said it". Tom's tone was abrupt, even peremptory, and which, thought Mary, was so very unlike him. While she herself was not at all a nervous woman, Mary sensed instinctively that whatever it was Tom had wanted to say to her, he was uneasy about the telling of it, which in turn worried her even more. And then there was still the business of Tibor. Just what on earth was he doing here? Mary determined to have that out with him as soon as the opportunity presented itself. As for Tom, instead of pressing him, at least for the present, Mary let the matter drop.

"As you wish".

"And just what might you two be plotting?" asked Matthew good-humouredly. Evidently having won his tussle with the footman, having swelched through the rain, valise in hand, he had come to stand beside the two of them beneath the broad roof of the verandah.

"Plotting? **We're not** , for sure!" Although it was gone in an instant, the look Tom now gave Matthew did not go unnoticed by Mary who decided she had had quite enough of all the evasion and uncertainty.

"Matthew, would you kindly please tell me just what is going on?" she hissed; her words all but drowned out by the rain drumming on the roof of the verandah. A moment later, she felt a gentle, soft, reassuring squeeze of her left elbow and, turning her head, she saw Tom nodding his agreement.

"For sure. Matthew, don't yours t'ink it's time that we told Mary what ..."

Her husband was almost brusque in his reply.

"Yes. Indeed. But not now. Later, and when we're alone". Matthew's tone brooked no argument; which was just as well, for at this precise moment Eva reappeared back out on the veranda having come in search of her missing guests, her presence thus precluding any further discussion on the matter in hand.

"Ah, there you three are! Now, come in and meet everyone properly".

Outside, the rain continued unabated.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, earlier in the morning.**

Not long after, unobserved, all four children had made their way downstairs to the kitchen, following a wretched, restless night, unable to sleep, Sybil, used as she was to working shifts at the Rotunda, as was so often the case, had arisen early. Had gone along the passage to see how Danny had passed the night; only to find both his bed, and those of his two cousins, were empty. Where on earth could the boys be? Frowning, she came back out into the corridor. A moment later there was soft movement to her right and she saw Edith, clearly also early from bed, and who had gone to look in on little Kurt, walking down the passage towards her.

"Good morning". The two sisters embraced; Sybil now proceeding to explain what it was she had found.

Edith smiled.

"Don't worry, darling. I think I know where they all might be. Come with me".

Linking arms with Sybil, the two sisters set off along the corridor and then down the main staircase.

"Where on earth are we going?" asked Sybil, evidently mystified.

"You'll see," replied Edith enigmatically and with a laugh, as together they walked across the hall, towards the green baize door which led down to the offices of the house.

* * *

 **Entrance Hall, Rózsafa, southeast Hungary, that afternoon.**

Once inside the kastély, if only for the present, Matthew, Mary, and Tom forgot their own troubles, as they were swiftly introduced to all the other guests, several of whom were of exalted rank, some being, as they saw themselves, "exiles", hailing from Transylvania, which now lay across the border in Roumania. These included a couple of princes and princesses, several barons and baronesses, and a veritable clutch of counts and countesses

And, among the assembled throng, was someone who, at least in terms of precedence, outranked them all. An Austrian archduke: Joseph August, a much decorated soldier who, said Eva, had at one time, albeit only briefly, occupied the position now held by Admiral Horthy, that of Regent of what yet remained of the Kingdom of Hungary.

All of this was of much less interest to Mary than the fact that the elderly archduke was the owner of a flawless diamond, said to be of exceptional magnificence. Quite how and when it had come into the old man's possession was not exactly clear. There were, said Eva, all sorts of rumours, but then added quickly that it did not do to enquire too closely as to the exact nature of the circumstances surrounding Joseph August's fabulous acquisition.

* * *

There being no electricity here in the hall at Rózsafa, at least for the purposes of illumination, owing to the worsening weather, both the candles in their burnished silver wall sconces and the polished brass oil lamps set atop the several side tables, had already been lit. Glancing round the lavender scented hall, taking in the large, white tiled stove, the pairs of stags' antlers, the full length portraits set in heavy gilded frames, as well as the serried ranks of antique armour and weapons, helmets, breastplates, sabres, pikes, muskets, and the like, lining the lofty walls, Tom let out a soft whistle of appreciation.

"Quite the place, for sure. Although ... Thank you". He nodded as, on an embossed salver, a liveried footman offered them golden goblets, each brimful of the plum brandy, which Eva had told them was customarily served here in Hungary on occasions such as this.

"Mm! It really is quite delicious!" exclaimed Mary.

"Although what?" asked Matthew, likewise slowly sipping and equally relishing his drink.  
"This reminds me of those Irish country houses which escaped being burned out by the IRA back in the '20s - Ballybrook Hall close to Dublin or Castlederry House near Cork. These days like their owners, rather down at heel, relics of a bygone age, and living on borrowed time".

Tom nodded towards where the glow of lamplight was reflected in the ornate pier glasses and the highly polished surfaces of the Biedermeier furniture, mainly high backed sofas, chairs, and occasional tables. But which revealed, too, the pitted surface of those self same mirrors, the chipped, tarnished gilding of their ornately carved surrounds, together with the faded, threadbare state of both upholstery and curtains. While there might be servants aplenty, as both Eva and Tibor had said, among the Hungarian aristocracy, ready money was in short supply.

* * *

And speaking of Tibor, of the man himself, there was presently no sign; Eva having explained, when Mary enquired as to where he was, that while Tibor would be back in time for dinner, he had gone in one of the motors to collect several other guests who were staying on a neighbouring estate; there being no room for them to be accommodated here. To Mary, that had sounded suspiciously like an excuse. And a lame one at that. After all, the house at Rózsafa was hardly what one would call small.

* * *

"You mean just like Downton?" Matthew asked with a chuckle. But his attempt at levity went wide of the mark; he saw Mary grimace, and even Tom shook his head.

"Is that what you think I am, Mr. Branson? A relic?" Mary asked stony faced.

"No, of course not. But all of this ... " Tom spread his hands. "And with what we saw earlier on the road today ... peasants doffing their caps to the landowners! Jaysus!"

Tom made a pretence of tugging an imaginary forelock and in spite of everything, Mary found herself smiling.

"You idiot!"

Tom grinned.

* * *

With Matthew and Mary deep in conversation with Archduke Joseph, keeping an ever watchful eye on the whereabouts of Miss Mitford - presently Unity was over on the far side of the room chatting animatedly to a dark haired young man - Tom briefly found himself left to his own devices.

On the table beside him, he espied a collection of photographs. He had seen them before, on display in the entrance hall at Rosenberg. These included one of the late Emperor Karl and his wife Empress Zita, along with their eldest son, Crown Prince Otto, all three attired in the ceremonial robes they had worn at the coronation held in Budapest back in December 1916. Standing next to that particular picture was another. One which had not been among those on show at Rosenberg. A photograph of a young man, wearing a plumed shako and a heavily braided, fur trimmed uniform, and who looked somehow familiar, although Tom could not place him. So as to study the subject of the photograph more closely, Tom reached forward and picked it up.

* * *

 **Kitchen, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, earlier in the morning.**

At this early hour of the morning, hearing the unexpected sound footsteps on the bare, wooden treads of the stairs, Frau Eder glanced up, was surprised to see the four children trooping down into the airy, stone vaulted kitchen. Preceded by the three boys, one of whom was Master Max, bringing up the rear of the small party was the Irish girl, the one with the unpronounceable name, and who, much to Frau Eder's surprise, was carrying the young master's little dog. Here at Rosenberg it was well known that, saving Master Max, the little dachshund would let no-one else anywhere near him. Anyone foolish enough to try their luck in this regard soon found themselves nursing a couple of nipped fingers.

"Frau Eder, guten Morgen".

" Master Max! Du gehst zu Fuß!"

Max grinned; nodded his head.

"Ja, zu Fuß!"

Once the cook had recovered from the shock of seeing him walking unaided once again, it fell to Max to explain what it was they wanted. For so long the only child here at Rosenberg, with his good looks and winning smile, it being known too how bravely he coped with his repeated bouts of ill health, young Max was a firm favourite with all the domestic staff. This being so, Frau Eder readily agreed to Max's request. Indicating that the children should seat themselves at one end of the long, oak table which occupied the centre of the room, made a great fuss of by the two young maids, Franziska and Klara, who helped Frau Eder in the kitchen, Danny, Rob, Max, and Saiorse found themselves served with mouth watering, freshly baked croissants and bowls of steaming hot chocolate.

As for Fritz, had he been able to smile, then doubtless the little dog would now have done so. But since he couldn't, instead, he gave a series of short, sharp barks to indicate his own pleasure at the dish of scraps, left over from the previous night's Wiener schnitzel, put in his bowl, and placed before him on the floor beside the range.

* * *

With a sleepy Fritz once again curled up in her lap, Saiorse set down her empty bowl of chocolate and licked her fingers.

"Just look at your face, sis!" laughed Danny.

"Why? What's wrong with it?" asked Saiorse, at once suspicious.

"Yous got chocolate all round your mouth!"

"No, I haven't!"

"Yes, you have!" laughed Rob.

Saoirse scowled at Robert.

" **Have I** , Max?" she asked; he being the only one of the three whom she trusted implicitly to give her an honest answer.

"Yes, you have!" Clearly unconcerned, Max took another bite of his croissant. Seated here in the warm kitchen, together with Danny and Rob, all of them having an illicit, impromptu, early breakfast, he was enjoying himself immensely.

* * *

Saiorse scrubbed hard at her mouth with the back of her hand. She looked up.

"There now, is that better, for sure?"

Danny and Robert sniggered.

"You've made it worse, sis!"

"She looks like a sambo!" giggled Rob.

"No, I don't!"  
"Yes, yous do!"

Saiorse glowered at the two boys; was on the point of saying something very rude indeed when some sixth sense warned her that it would not be a good idea.

"Just what do you think you're doing out of bed, young man?"

* * *

 **Entrance Hall, Rózsafa, southeast Hungary, that afternoon.**

"Forgive me, but I don't think we have been properly introduced". The elderly, balding, moustached man who had come to stand beside Tom now held out his right hand in friendly greeting. "Count István Bethlen de Bethlen".

For Tom, memory stirred; the former Prime Minister of Hungary, replaced by Admiral Horthy, first by Count Gyula Károlyi and more recently still with Gyula Gömbös. Breathing a silent prayer of thanks to Matthew for what he had told him on the express, Tom set down the photograph.

"Tom Branson".

The two men shook hands.

"Ah, the brother-in-law of Lord Grantham". The count nodded in the direction of Matthew. "And also the influential Editor of the Irish Independent newspaper".

"Brother-in-law, yes. But only the Deputy Editor, I'm afraid. And as to my influence ... greatly over stated".

"No matter".

The count indicated the photograph on the side table.

"The rightful king".

"Oh? How so?"

Count Bethlen reached forward and picked up the photograph which Tom had replaced upon the table; now pointed to the picture of the coronation. "The young boy there, standing between his parents ..." The count tapped the photograph he was holding. "The one and the same. His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Otto. Aged twenty years and now ready to assume his responsibilities upon the throne of Hungary". The count now did as Tom had done and replaced the photograph back from whence it had come.

"Indeed. Although I doubt the Regent, Admiral Horthy, would agree with yous".

The count smiled.

"He would not".

"I believe," said Tom, now choosing his words with infinite care, " there may even be some in Hungary who would seek to conspire against him".

"That is one way of putting it. But, consider for a moment, if you will, another proposition".  
"Another?" echoed Tom.

"Certainly".

"Which is what?" Tom took another sip of the plum brandy. As Mary had said, it really was quite excellent.

"That Horthy, who calls himself Regent, is, in point of fact, himself, a usurper. That he has conspired to keep the rightful king from taking his seat upon the throne of Hungary. An injustice which, may I say, he has perpetrated ever since '21 when Horthy, and others, prevented the late emperor from regaining what was then lawfully and rightfully his. And for what? The Treaty of Trianon was and remains an affront to the Hungarian people. Some two-thirds of my own country was taken away and given to the states which now surround it, so that today some three million Magyars find themselves living outside the borders of Hungary. I fear the time is fast approaching when those injustices must be addressed".

"In a civil war?"

"If that is what it takes".

Tom shook his head.

"I had the singular misfortune to experience one, at close quarters, in Ireland, back in '22-23".

Count Bethlen nodded.

"My heartfelt sympathies, Mr. Branson. I understand your point of view. Really, I do. All the same, did not the great Machiavelli himself say that the end justifies the means?"

Tom shook his head.

"Not exactly, sir. I think yous will find that what Machiavelli actually said was that although an act condemns the doer, the end may justify him. And, in a civil war, I do assure yous, the only winner is hate".

The other nodded.

"Possibly. You are remarkably well informed".

"For sure. It is a matter of principle with me to be so".

"Indeed. However, during my long life I have often found that when a man begins invoking principle, then reason flies out of the window. That apart, I think you would do well to remember that you are but a guest in my country". The reproach in the other's voice was unmistakable.

"If that's a warning ..."

The count smiled.

"Perhaps. But, come now, Mr. Branson, we grow too earnest. Tell me something of yourself".

Tom likewise smiled.

"I just have. What else is it that yous wish to know?"

* * *

 **Kitchen, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, earlier in the morning.**

Here in the kitchen the four children turned their heads in unison, to where Edith and Sybil stood together, side by side, at the foot of the kitchen staircase.

"Ma! I was hungry!" Danny gave his mother what he hoped was a winning smile; well aware that it often worked wonders with Ma. This time, however, he was out of luck. Sybil remained implacable.

"And you can wipe that silly grin off your face, my lad. Hungry or not, you should be in bed, resting. Now, back upstairs this instant!"

"Oh, Ma!"

"Don't _oh Ma_ me. Do as I say!"

"I'm fine, for sure, Ma. Don't fuss!" Calmly and deliberately, Danny reached for the very last of the croissants.

Sybil was not someone who was given to having what Granny would have termed _a touch of the vapours_. Indeed, quite the reverse. But now, not having slept a wink, worried sick about Tom, Matthew, and Mary, having had to put a brave face on everything for the sake of the children, it was as if Sybil's own carefully crafted defences had been suddenly overwhelmed. Although she made no sound, shed no tears, heedless of all propriety - whenever had she given a damn' about that anyway - Sybil crumpled. Sank to her knees, hugging herself tightly, rocking back and forth on the kitchen floor, in a deepening, lengthening, and ominous silence.

Of course, betimes, both Danny and Saiorse had seen their mother upset but never anything quite like this. Sensing that something must indeed be very wrong, slowly, Danny rose to his feet, before somewhat unsteadily making his way across the kitchen, to kneel beside his mother on the flagstones. Tentatively, Danny reached out; placed an arm about Ma's slender shoulders. When it came, his voice was husky, as deep and lilting as that of his father.

"What is it, Ma?" he asked softly.

* * *

 **Entrance Hall, Rózsafa, southeast Hungary, later that afternoon.**

A short while later, both the archduke and the count made their respective fond adieus but only until they met up once again at dinner.

"So, what was all that about?" asked Matthew, nodding towards where Count Bethlen now stood deep in conversation with both Manfred and Eva.

"Politics and crowns. And if I'm not very much mistaken, also a veiled warning not to meddle in Hungary's affairs. Now, about what I said to yous earlier, out there on the verandah ..."

But before Matthew could begin to reply, above the continuing patter of falling rain, from somewhere outside, there came a low, menacing rumble.

Conversation here in the hall faltered and several of the guests even moved over to the windows to try and see what it was that had occasioned the noise.

"Thunder, I shouldn't wonder," said Mary dismissively.

With his experience of serving on the Western Front standing him in good stead, Matthew slowly shook his head.

"I very much regret to have to say so, but that, was shell fire".

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Between June 1915 and November 1917 the military forces of the Austro-Hungarian Empire and the Kingdom of Italy clashed along the Isonzo River on no less than twelve occasions. The casualty rate was appalling; the successive battles costing a total of some 500,000 lives.

"[another] shot heard round the world". A phrase often used in respect of the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand in Sarajevo in June 1914.

Green baize door: an ordinary swing door covered with baize cloth affixed with brass tacks and found in all large houses, marking the division between the family's rooms and the "offices" (servants' quarters).

Sambo - of its era, and from the children's book, "The Story Of Little Black Sambo" by Helen Bannerman, published in 1899.

The diamond which once belonged to Archduke Joseph still exists. Weighing 76.02 carats, the rare, colourless stone - about the size of a large strawberry - was sold in Geneva, Switzerland in November 2012, for a record 20.355 million Swiss Francs ($21.48 million).

All of Hungary's interwar governments sought to achieve the restoration to the kingdom of the Magyar-populated territories lost following the Treaty of Trianon.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

On His Majesty's Secret Service

 **Orient Express, Biatorbágy Bridge, west of Budapest, Hungary, 12.20am,** **Sunday, 1** **3th September 1931.**

Here on the hot, dirty, noisy footplate of the powerful steam locomotive, turning his grizzled head, the driver glanced briefly in the direction of his young fireman and grinned, before dutifully resuming keeping a very watchful eye on the road ahead. Above the roar of the speeding locomotive, the driver had to shout to have any chance at all of being heard.

"She"s running very well tonight".

The fireman merely nodded his head in agreement, but said nothing by way of reply. A moment later he opened wide the door of the firebox; the searing heat from within the grate was tremendous, approaching something in the order of 1500°C. Now perspiring even more profusely than before, once he had loaded his shovel, the fireman threw in yet another heavy load of coal and slammed shut the steel door.

Given the comparative lateness of the hour, it being but shortly after midnight, unsurprisingly, most if indeed not all of the passengers travelling on board the luxurious blue and gold liveried coaches of the westbound Orient Express were tucked up, fast asleep in their beds; singularly unaware of the fact that owing to circumstances which were not entirely clear, the freight train timetabled to precede the _train de luxe_ , had been delayed, and that the express was now running well ahead of schedule.

But, of course, even if any of the passengers had known of what had occurred, doubtless they would have thought the re-timetabling to be a matter for the railway authorities alone, of no particular consequence, and certainly of no concern to themselves. And, with the twinkling lights of Budapest now left far behind, hauled at high speed by the Class 301 4-6-2 locomotive, the heavy train thundered onward into the blackness of the night, bound for distant Vienna.

A short while later, and the express was fast approaching the place where the railway line crossed the Fuzes valley, carried over it by means of the lofty steel girders and massive stone piers of the Biatorbágy Bridge. And it was now, at this very point in the train's journey, that Fate intervened to decree that neither the train, nor many of those on board, would ever reach their intended destination.

For, as the Orient Express swept westwards onto the viaduct, as the second and third carriages of the heavy train passed over it, the charge of dynamite placed beneath the rails now detonated; the resultant explosion sending engine, tender, and nine of the eleven packed coaches plunging off the bridge, to be smashed to pieces in the deep ravine one hundred feet below the line.

* * *

 **Fisherman's Bastion, Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933.**

"Given what you were just saying, I mean a moment ago, about Matthew, not having been born into the aristocracy, here in Hungary we have a proverb. One which, given all the circumstances, I think is particularly appropriate".

"Oh, really?" Mary's tone was somewhat dismissive. She had, she realised, but too late, been too free with what she had said, especially on so short an acquaintance but, despite what she had said to Sybil back at Rosenberg and which now seemed a lifetime ago, that business of the comtesse de Roquebrune had rankled. It still did.

Tibor nodded; smiled ruefully at Mary.

"Yes. I do. _Titles may be inherited by blood, granted by a monarch, or bought with money; but nobility must be earned_ ".

True or not, what he had just said to her here tonight, while the two of them stood together by the balustrade of the Fisherman's Bastion, overlooking the Chain Bridge and the bright lights of Pest, was the most skilfully delivered rebuke Mary had ever received in her life. And she would have very good cause to recall it, but a few days later, when the truth of Tibor's words were revealed to her and in a way which she could never possibly have imagined.

* * *

 **Kitchen, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

For a moment, here in the kitchen, no-one else either moved or spoke.

"It's Da, isn't it?" said Danny, softly, continuing to hold his mother against him, singularly unaware that Saiorse had come to stand next to them. Hearing her brother's quietly posed question, she gasped, before choking back an anguished sob, thrusting her fist against her mouth.

"Da's not ... dead ... is he?" she asked, her voice trembling with emotion.

Her daughter's words served to jolt Sybil back to reality. Raising her head, she summoned up the briefest of smiles before, helped by both Danny and Saiorse, she rose slowly to her feet. None of them were getting any younger.

"No, darling. Of course not!" Sybil sounded horrified although, knowing just how much Saiorse loved her Da, the question itself was perfectly understandable.

"Then ... what is it. Ma?" asked Danny.

Sybil shot a glance at Edith; saw her nod her head. Yes, it was time that they knew. But not here. As Granny would have said:

"Pas devant les domestiques".

* * *

 **Rózsafa, Hungary, summer 1933.**

Here at Rózsafa, as Manfred now took centre stage in the crowded entrance hall of the house, he was all smiles, the epitome of polished, urbane charm, adopting a correspondingly mellifluous and soothing tone.

"Everyone ... dear friends, please, I assure you, there is nothing whatsoever to be alarmed about. The Roumanian Army, or rather what passes for it ..." Manfred paused as a faint ripple of audible amusement ran around the room.

Save for those unfortunate Hungarians, some of whom were present here in the ornate entrance hall of Rózsafa, who, through no fault of their own, following the Treaty of Trianon had thereafter found themselves exiled from Hungary and forced to live in a foreign country, the detestation felt for those across the border was almost palpable.

"They must, I suppose, be undertaking some form of military exercise. And, with the border but _presently_ only a few miles distant, given the direction and the strength of the prevailing wind, the sound of their manoeuvres sometimes carries this far".

What Manfred had said by way of explanation, for what had just occurred, whether or not it was true, had been both carefully considered and contrived, and moreover appeared to do the trick, just as no doubt it was supposed to. For, almost immediately conversations were duly resumed, drinks replenished, and the lively tempo of the convivial gathering swiftly resumed its previous pitch, and the small orchestra now began to play a succession of well known tunes, so much so that it was as if nothing at all untoward had happened.

Standing slightly apart from the rest of the party, imperceptibly, save that was to Mary and Tom, Matthew shook his head in obvious disbelief.

"Given some of what I've heard being said this afternoon, voices clamouring for Justice, seeking to avenge what they perceive to be a great wrong by military means, let alone other matters" - here Matthew pointed to where the black and yellow flag of the Habsburgs took pride of place on the wall at the far end of the room -, "well, they would do well to remember that Justice herself is blind. Cannot tell a Hungarian from a Roumanian. They should be careful what they wish for. All that apart, does no-one here remember the last war? And, what it cost? As for ..." Matthew jabbed his thumb derisively in the direction of Manfred ..."what utter tosh! Wherever that shell came from, it wasn't from over the border but from somewhere much closer at hand. Manfred must know that there isn't a word of truth in what he just said".

"For sure?"

"Tom, old chap, when I hear the sound of a whizz bang, believe me, I'm speaking from experience. In any case ..." Matthew broke off abruptly what he was saying; nodded towards where Manfred and Eva were making their way towards them across the crowded room.

"I fear we've both been rather neglecting you". Manfred smiled thinly. "So, to try and make amends, a little later, if you'd like to, Mary, I'd be delighted to show you our stables. And then, perhaps, a short ride before dinner?"

"Yes, that would be most agreeable. Thank you".

Tom's brow furrowed. On the face of it, his sister-in-law's reply had been perfectly polite and proper. Yet, for all that, singularly lacking in enthusiasm for what Manfred had just proposed. Which was decidedly odd; Mary was nothing if not passionate about both horses and riding. For his part, Matthew seemed not to have noticed there was anything amiss.

"No, not at all. There's nothing to forgive. You have had your other guests to attend to. In any event ..." Again Matthew broke off what he was saying, this time on account of the fact that he felt Mary suddenly clutch his left arm, saw her put her other hand to her forehead. "Mary, darling, what on earth is it? Are you feeling unwell?"

"I don't know ..." Mary swayed visibly.

"I'll call Doctor Capa ..." began Eva.

"No! There's no need. I think ... I think it must be the heat". Mary openly drooped against Matthew, who now swept her up in his strong arms.

"Darling ..." Bending his head close to hers, Matthew alone saw his wife open her eyes; heard her implored, softly whispered suggestion.

"Yes, of course," he said quietly and for her ears alone. Now raised his voice. "Perhaps ... if we could both be shown to our room ..."  
"Indeed". Manfred signalled quickly to one of the liveried footmen.

* * *

 **Tom and Sybil's bedroom, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

With sunlight streaming in through the open widow, seated here on the double bed, propped up by a mountain of plumped up pillows, with all of the children still in their night attire, Danny and Saiorse snuggled against their mother, her arms placed comfortingly about their shoulders, and with Edith, her arms likewise fast around both Robert and Max, sitting at the foot of the bed, at first haltingly, slowly, Sybil began to try and explain what it was that had happened.

"My darlings, first of all, no-one's died. But, before I say anything else ... you must promise me ... that you won't say word about this ... any of it ... to the others. Is that understood?"

"For sure, Ma, we promise," chorused Danny and Saiorse, while both Robert and Max solemnly nodded their heads.

"Well then ..."

* * *

 **Matthew and Mary's bedroom, Rózsafa, Hungary, summer 1933.**

"Yes, I'm certain that's all it is. And, I suppose, the long journey down here can't have helped. A few hours sleep and I'm sure she will be as right as rain," replied Matthew, sanguinely.

"Well, if you're quite sure ..." Eva sounded doubtful. "I'm more than happy to ask Doctor ..."  
"I am, thank you. That's very kind of you, but no. Let her sleep. At least for now".

"Until later then".  
"Indeed".

Eva smiled; turned on her heel and was gone while behind her Matthew firmly closed the door of the bedroom.

"Has she gone?" asked Mary from the bed.

Matthew listened intently at the door. All seemed silent.

"Yes, I think so".

Mary sat up; flung back the covers.

A moment later and there came a soft knock at the door; the sound of which sent Mary scurrying hastily back beneath the bedclothes.

"Who is it?" asked Matthew.

"It's me, for sure".

"About time. Come in, and close the door".

Tom did as he had been bidden. Now slipped silently into the darkened room, and shut fast the door.

* * *

"How are yous feeling?" asked Tom, seeing Mary sitting up in bed.

But Mary chose not to answer him. Instead, as before, here in the grey darkness, once again she threw back the bedclothes, revealing that she was still fully dressed, and rose swiftly to her feet.

"Perfectly fine, thank you. In fact, there's nothing at all wrong with me!"  
"So that whole incident ... Very convincing, for sure. And yous told me that amateur dramatics was Edith's line, not yours!"

"When the need arises, I can turn my hand to almost anything. I'm one of the Crawley girls, remember?"  
"How could I ever forget!"

"Now, what I want from you, Matthew, is to know just what on earth is going on. And this time, I want the truth; the whole truth".

""The whole truth?" Matthew sounded incredulous. "When is it ever that? Can it not wait while longer?"

"No, it can't".

"Very well then".

* * *

But now, it seemed, it was Matthew's turn to behave ... oddly. There really was no other word for it.

First he opened the door to the room again; then went back out into the passage. Several minutes elapsed before he returned, evidently satisfied, although where he had been he didn't say. Closing the door firmly behind him, he turned the key in the lock.

Next he walked over to the window, flung back the heavy curtains, opened wide the pair of full length windows, and unfastened the shutters disclosing a small balcony, and beyond that a sodden landscape upon which the rain continued to fall steadily. Again, apparently well satisfied, Matthew closed shutters, the windows, and the curtains. Catching sight of Mary, who watching his every move, he smiled; passed by her into the bathroom beyond. Next Mary and Tom heard the sound of running water at which both exchanged quizzical glances. Surely Matthew did not intend taking a bath? Or did he? A moment later, the man himself appeared in the bathroom doorway.

"I don't know quite how to put this, but would the two of you be kind enough to join me in here?" Matthew asked in a hushed whisper.

"In the bathroom?" Tom cocked an inquisitive brow.  
"Matthew, darling, what ..."

Her husband brought his right forefinger swiftly to his lips, indicating that they both should be silent.

"Walls may have ears. If it wasn't absolutely necessary, I wouldn't ask it of you". Once again Matthew kept his voice low.

"Very well then". Mary was nothing if not pragmatic. There was, she thought, a first time for everything. And this was certainly a first. Sharing a bathroom with both her husband and brother-in-law. God knows what Granny would have thought, but then again nothing ever really surprised the old girl. And, as Granny had once so famously remarked to Tom, there was no point searching for logic among the English upper class.

A moment later, all three of them were standing in the bathroom; whereupon Matthew closed the door, while behind them water continued spilling slowly into the bath.

"Mary, darling, I suggest you sit down". Matthew indicated the only chair while Tom folded his arms and lounged against the door. "Now, first of all an apology, to both of you, and then a confession".

"An apology is one thing but if it's a confession you're wanting, I'm no priest. And if I was, Sybil would have something to say about it, for sure".

Matthew ghosted a smile.

"I don't doubt that she would! But I've no need of a priest, I do assure you. The one thing that consoles me in all of this mess is that none of those at Rosenberg know anything about it. Nor, what it is I am about to divulge and which ... must remain between ourselves. As inviolate as the Confessional. Is that clearly understood?"

Mary and Tom both silently nodded their assent.

"Well then. The truth of it is ... I'm with the SIS. And have been ever since the end of the Great War".

As the scales fell metaphorically from his eyes, with realisation swiftly dawning, Tom nodded his head in understanding. Of course! What Matthew had just vouchsafed to them explained so much. Made perfect sense. And then again, it also begged further questions.

"Ah, then, for sure".

Not so for Mary. She had heard of the RAC - the Royal Automobile Club. Even the AA - the Automobile Association. But SIS?

"What's that?" she asked, looking up, slightly peeved that Tom evidently knew what Matthew meant, while she herself did not.

"The Secret Intelligence Service. It's part of the Foreign Office".

There was no other word for it. Mary was stunned.

"You mean you're ... **you're a** **spy**?"

"Of sorts. From time to time. When the need arises. For the British Government. And while my work for the League is real enough, it does give me certain ... advantages. For example, contacts such as Alice, the comtesse de Roquebrune. Someone whom I admire greatly".  
"Yes, I've seen just how _greatly_ you admire her; the two of you strolling, arm in arm, along the shore of Lake Geneva!"

"So you saw the photograph, then?"

"Yes. While you were in Switzerland, some kind soul sent a copy of it to Downton".

"Why on earth didn't you tell me?"  
"What good would it have done? But ... you knew about it?"  
"Of course! I think that whole episode was intended to cause me embarrassment but in fact it served our purposes very well".

"How so?"

"Agents of a foreign power being led to believe that the comtesse and I were having a love affair when our meetings, while clandestine, were of a strictly professional, diplomatic nature".

"Indeed. And do you have other such contacts?"  
"As it happens, yes".

"Among them yet another Milady de Winter?"

Matthew ghosted another smile. Shook his head.

"My lips are sealed. But I fear I'm not explaining myself very clearly, am I? In order for you to understand the present situation, I have to go back to something which happened a couple of years ago. At the time, it was in all the papers ... Well, perhaps not **all** the papers; when the Orient Express was derailed close to Budapest".

"Now you come to mention it, yes, for sure. And no, it didn't feature in the _Indy_. At the time, we were more concerned with the launch, a couple of weeks earlier, of de Valera's _Irish Press_ ".

Matthew smiled.

"How decidedly parochial of you!"

When Tom didn't reply; remained silent, even wooden faced, lounging against the bathroom door, Mary wondered if, Matthew had blundered; had gone too far, and had offended him. Dear God, that was the last thing they needed now - for the two of them to fall out. But then, much to her relief, Mary saw the corners of Tom's mouth twitch. It had ever been thus between them, not only brothers-in-law, but the best of friends, and sharing the same sense of humour which Mary would readily have admitted she often found utterly incomprehensible.

"Oh, for sure!

"At the time, the accident was said to have been the work of some maniac. A chap called ... Mat ..." Inadvertently, Matthew cast a glance in the direction of Mary.  
"Well, don't look at me. How should I know?"

"Matu ... Matus ... Matuschka Sylvestre. Apparently, he got some kind of perverse pleasure out of seeing the accident happened. The express came off a bridge. Went down into a hundred foot ravine. Over twenty killed and over a hundred injured; some of them seriously. And one of those killed was a Major Bradshaw. He was with the Allied Military Mission here. When, in '27, that was wound up, having married a Hungarian countess, he stayed on in Budapest and became our main agent here. When the express was derailed, Bradshaw was on his way to our embassy in Vienna with information regarding moves afoot to oust Horthy, place Crown Prince Otto on the vacant throne, and force a revision of the terms of the Treaty of Trianon, if necessary by by military means".

"You mean, another war?" asked Mary, clearly aghast.  
"With Roumania, yes. And which would, undoubtedly, have set off a conflagration here in central Europe, on a scale to rival the Great War. Something which may yet still happen".

Tom shook his head.

"Jaysus! Not again. Will they never learn? As for ... Bradshaw, a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Just like every other poor sod on that train".

"I'd agree with you ... were it not for the fact that the major was lying dead in his sleeping compartment long before the express came off that bridge".

Tom could not hide his surprise.

"What was it? Heart attack?"

Matthew shook his head.  
"No, but something just as lethal".

"What then?"

Matthew shot a glance at Mary.

"I don't know if Mary ought to hear ..."  
"Matthew, darling, in case you haven't noticed, I'm not made of glass. I shan't shatter. Nor will faint. At least not again! What's more, I'm a Crawley twice over!"

Whether or not it was the reference to Mary being a Crawley, let alone twice over, Tom found himself thinking of Sybil. Had she been here, he knew she would have been just the same.

"Very well then. In answer to your question, Tom, two bullets in the back of Bradshaw's skull. From the powder burns, fired at close range from a Luger PO8. Pretty lethal I'd have said, wouldn't you?"

The Irishman nodded.

"For sure!"

"And the amount of amytal in him was enough to knock out an elephant".  
"So, what you're saying is the major was first drugged, rendered unconscious, and then shot?" asked Mary.

Matthew smiled.

"Clever girl! Yes, indeed. What's more, the briefcase he had with him was never found. One can only presume that ..."  
"From what you said at the embassy, I'd hazard a guess that Horthy's agents took it?"

"Undoubtedly; though it couldn't be proved".

"So Horthy and his circle have known for a long while ago, what is being planned?"

Matthew nodded.

"That's what I've been told. And our the chaps in the FO think much the same".

"Which is what?"  
"That the hotheads down here, those who are planning the coup, are walking into a trap. But so far, all attempts to dissuade them from what they are about have fallen on deaf ears. And now there's a further complication".

"Which is?"

"That it is widely believed the derailment of the Orient Express was planned by the then Minister for Defence, Gömbös, and with Horthy's approval, to strengthen their position against Prime Minister Károlyi Gyula, as well as a pretext to crack down on the Communists - there was a Red pamphlet found at the scene of the accident, which was probably planted. What makes all of this even more likely is that shortly afterwards Gyula was ousted as premier, Gömbös took his place and a State of Emergency was proclaimed. Now, despite its imperfections and fragile as it is, His Britannic Majesty's Government does not want the postwar settlement here in central Europe disturbed. All the same, they can hardly be seen to be supporting as Regent of Hungary someone who will stoop to mass murder in order to maintain his position. And now Horthy is being courted by the Nazis. A short while ago they sent one of their top agents to Budapest to try and convince Horthy that it would be in Hungary's best interests to forge a close alliance with the new regime in Germany. That agent - Tom, you're not going to like hearing this - is your cousin, Fergal who works, as he has done for several years, for the German Foreign Office, on the Wilhelmstrasse, in Berlin".

Tom nodded.

"For sure".

"You don't seem at all surprised".

"I'm not. Well, not as much as I would have been, had I not thought I caught sight of him at that coffee house in Budapest. That's why I went back. To look. To see if I was right, for sure. A bit unnerving that. Seeing someone yous thought was dead!"

"I don't doubt it. That night on the Ponte Vecchio ... my aim must have been decidedly off!"

Tom smiled.

"All the same, it saved Danny's life".

Matthew shook his head.

"No, it was you who did that. Remember?"

For both men, memory stirred.

* * *

 **Ponte Vecchio, Florence, Italy, August 1932.**

Crouching unseen in the darkness at the head of the narrow staircase, hearing Tom pleading for Danny's life, Matthew knew that had it been Robert held there with a pistol hard against his temple not for one single moment would he have hesitated. In the army he had been known as a crack shot and, with that thought in mind, realising that he had no other option, mouthing a silent prayer to whichever deity might be listening, Matthew squeezed hard on the trigger of his service revolver.

In the confined space of the attic, the noise of the report from the Webley was deafening. In the dim light of the attic, Tom was aware briefly of a sudden gust of warm air, the sound of the shot seeming to rattle his bones; reverberating through the rickety floor. The bullet hit Fergal squarely in the shoulder, the impact catapulting him backwards over what little remained of the gable wall, sending him plunging into the churning, frothing, black waters of the river some fifty feet below. At the same time Tom launched himself forward, intent on grabbing hold of Danny to prevent him being pulled backwards into the void. But, in the event, Tom misjudged badly for, as Danny, shaken but unharmed, dropped uninjured to the floor, Tom found himself plunging headlong into the foggy darkness beyond.

* * *

In an instant, Matthew was across the loft and on his knees beside Danny, cradling the terrified youngster in his arms, pulling off the makeshift, filthy gag, untying the boy's hands, before crawling on his hands and knees across the shaky planking, steeling himself to look fearfully over the wall, terrified to see what he knew he might see.

Moonlight filtered through the drifting skeins of mist to reveal Tom clearly winded, but alive, lying athwart and clutching a projecting beam some ten feet below the floor of the attic high above the fast flowing waters of the river.

"Da!" screamed Danny.

"Tom! yelled Matthew.

Groggily, Tom raised his head and looked up to see the anxious faces of both his son and his brother-in-law peering down at him through the swirling murk.

"Matthew! How on earth ..."

"Never mind that. For God's sake, don't let go!"

"Feckin' hell! I wasn't intending to! Talk about statin' the bleedin' obvious!" gasped Tom, tightening his grip on the creaking beam.

Casting around desperately for something which he might be able to make use of to help rescue Tom from his precarious perch, a coil of rope lying on the floor in a corner of the attic caught Matthew's eye.

"Danny, lad, I need your help with this".

Wasting no time, without further ado, Matthew made one end of the heavy rope fast around the newel post at the head of the stairs and then with Danny beside him, both of them lying flat on the partly collapsed floor, he lowered the other end down to Tom, who lashed it tightly about his waist.

"What do you need me to do, Uncle Matthew?"

"When I say pull, then pull, pull with all your might! Tom, are you ready?"

"No, I thought I'd just stay here for sure and take in the feckin' view! Of course I'm bloody ready!"

"Right, Danny. Now **PULL**!"

A few minutes later, bruised and winded, Tom was safely back on the floor of the attic and hugging Danny tightly to him in a tearful embrace. Kneeling there on the dust strewn floor, Tom turned to Matthew. Smiling, he placed a firm hand on his friend's shoulder.

"And yous said **I** was the one to have about yous in a crisis. Yous don't do too bad yourself, for sure!"

Below them, the beam on which Tom had been lying, creaked, lurched, and collapsed downwards into the Arno.

* * *

 **Matthew and Mary's bathroom, Rózsafa, Hungary, summer 1933.**

Tom smiled.

"Let's just say both us played our part. As for ... Did yous know the bastard had survived?" Tom shot a glance at Mary. "Sorry!"

Mary smiled.

"Don't be!"  
"There were rumours to that effect, but nothing definite, so I thought it best to leave matters where they were".

"And you can't say how or where those rumours surfaced?"

"As it happens, from our new agent here in Hungary".

"You mean Bradshaw's replacement?"  
Matthew smiled.

"Indeed".

"But given what happened to Bradshaw, another British officer would be bound to attract attention, would stick out like a sore thumb, would like as not meet the same fate ..."

"Did I say Bradshaw's successor was British?"

"No. Hungarian then, for sure".

Matthew nodded.

"And thanks to family connections, a very highly placed Hungarian at that. I think I told you Bradshaw had married in Budapest?"

"Yes. To a Hungarian countess?"

"Quite so. What I did not say was that the marriage was childless. Not so that of the countess's younger sister. There were two boys and two girls born of that particular, earlier union. The father died just before the war and the elder boy was killed at the siege of Przemyśl. After the war, despite straightened circumstances, the younger lad showed a great deal of promise, pursued a military career, at the Ludovica Academy, a staunch Anglophile, he is now a member of the Regent's Escort ..."

" **Tibor**!" exclaimed Mary.

Again Matthew nodded.

"I'm sorry to have to disillusion you, my dear, but your encounter at the Oktogon, all of what followed, including that delightful little scene played out to perfection by the two of you up at the Fisherman's Bastion, unknowingly on your part, was to convince others that ... Well, let's say we were one step ahead of them".  
"Convince others? What others? Convince them of what, precisely?" Realising that she had been cozened, played for a fool, understandably, Mary was absolutely livid.

Again Matthew shook his head.

The rising tension here in the bathroom was palpable. Their faces flushed, and not just because of the hot water spilling slowly into the bath, Tom wisely reached forward and turned off the tap.

"I rather t'ink that the two of yous will have things to discuss," he said softly.

"You're damned right, we do!"

In a high dudgeon, flinging wide the door, Mary stalked off into the bedroom.

Casting a pitying look in the direction of Matthew, Tom turned on his heel.

* * *

 **Tom and Sybil's bedroom, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

"There, my darlings. That is all I can tell you. At least for now". Sybil summoned up a smile; looked round at the anxious faces of the four children.

Only now did she realise, just as Edith herself had done, that with both Matthew and Mary in mortal danger, the one person here present most affected by what Sybil had related was young Robert. For, if the very worst were to happen, it was upon Robert that the heavy mantle of responsibility for Downton would eventually fall. And much sooner than expected. Centuries of history, of tradition, and of _noblesse oblige;_ as well as a whole raft of responsibilities that went with them. Not the least of which would be the day to day running of the estate and all that entailed.

While all of this may have gone over Danny's head, what had not was the fact that Rob, Simon, and their young sister Rebecca, might all very well be orphaned, just as Da had been. With this in mind, somewhat unsteadily, Danny made his way down to the foot of the bed. Once there, having sat down, he placed a hand gently on Rob's shoulder while, already seated beside Rob, Max now did likewise.

"They'll be all right, Rob. Your Da and Ma. My Da too. All three of them. You'll see, for sure!"

"I hope so," sniffed Robert.

"Un pour tous, et tous pour un," said Max quietly.

Even Saiorse, not known for possessing any finer feelings where Robert was concerned, was now moved to tears.

"Oh, Ma! Isn't there something we can do?" she sobbed.

Sybil shook her head; hugged her daughter to her.

"I'm sorry darling, but no. All any of us can do now is to wait".

By tacit consent with Edith, Sybil had said nothing at all about the attempt being made to rescue those now in peril of their lives at Rózsafa by aeroplane. At that, she fell to wondering just what, at this precise moment, Tom himself was doing.

Mouthed a silent prayer:

"Oh, my darling, please, please come home".

* * *

 **Tom's bedroom, Rózsafa, Hungary, summer 1933.**

As it so happened, some time later, lying in the bath, the man, to whom Sybil's thoughts had flown, was doing some thinking of his own; in Tom's case, how relations between Matthew and Mary, whose bedroom lay just down the corridor from his own, might now be faring.

Given the circumstances, they could not afford to be at loggerheads. Nonetheless, notwithstanding just how close he was to Matthew, that Mary was angry Tom could well understand. Had he himself kept something from Sybil such as that which Matthew had kept from Mary, and for so long too, she would have been, to coin a phrase, _bloody furious_. And Sybil on the warpath was akin to one of the raging Furies of Greek mythology. This apart, Tom was looking forward, and with increasing impatience, to being able to speak with both Sybil and the children on the telephone later tonight before dinner.

* * *

Wearing only a towel, slung loosely about his waist, Tom came out of the bathroom. Was puzzled to find the bedroom in semi-darkness. The only light came from that spilling in through the louvres of the shutters which cast a pattern of bright, straight lines across the faded design of the carpet; yet Tom was certain that when he had gone in to take his bath, the shutters had been open. Presumably, a valet must have been in and closed them.

In the veiled darkness, Tom stumbled against a chair, stubbed his toe, mouthed an Irish expletive, and promptly dropped his towel.

Stark naked, only now and too late, over on the bed, did he detect languid movement.

Tom's heart lurched; skipped a beat.

He looked again.

No, his eyes had not deceived him.

A moment later, and the bed clothes were thrown back, to reveal the white nakedness of a female form.

"Well, you certainly took your time. And, such a handsome, fine figure of a man too. That being so, I"m prepared to overlook just how long you've kept me waiting," Unity purred.

 **Author's Note:**

"the road ahead" is an English phrase, used by railwaymen, to refer to the railway line ahead of a train.

The derailment, in September 1931, of the Orient Express, occurred exactly as described. Sylvestre Matuschka, the man arrested and subsequently convicted of causing the disaster said he "... wrecked trains because [he] like[d] to see people die. I like to hear them scream"; it was also reported that he achieved orgasm while watching trains crash. However, at the time, as is later revealed by Matthew, there were suspicions that there was rather more to the disaster than was made public and for the reasons given. As to whether there really was a British secret service agent on board, well ...

Formed in 1909 as part of the Secret Service Bureau, the Secret Intelligence Service adopted its current name about 1920. These days it is often referred to as MI6.

 _The Irish Press_ was an Irish national daily newspaper, published between September 1931 and May 1995. As a consequence of being controlled by Éamon de Valera and his family, it supported Fianna Fáil throughout its entire existence.

A spy for Cardinal Richelieu, Milady de Winter is an important character in _The Three Musketeers._

FO - the Foreign Office.

For the kidnap of Danny etc., see _The Rome Express_.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

The Pharaoh's Curse

 **Tom's bedroom, Rózsafa, Hungary, summer 1933.**

In the grey half light of the shuttered bedroom, Tom fumbled frantically on the carpet for his dropped towel. At the same time, also stark-naked, and with absolutely no sense of embarrassment whatsoever, cat like, without a sound, Unity rose from the bed. Hands outstretched, she advanced on Tom, if not with feline grace - in build she was somewhat large boned and clumsy - then, certainly, with all the determination of a hungry lioness scenting her prey was now within reach.

"Feckin' hell! Get away from me, yous bloody bitch!"

Finding his towel, in a trice Tom clutched it to him, managing, if nothing else, to cover his groin while, in anticipation of what she saw as a foregone, pleasurable, sexual encounter, Unity moistened her heavily painted lips with the tip of her tongue.

"My, my, Tommy! And I thought all you Irishmen were hot blooded! Come, now. Don't be so bashful. There's no need. Bobo wants you. Especially given what I've just seen! You've a very great deal to offer a girl! Far more than some I could mention".

* * *

 **Edith's Writing Room, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, later that same day.**

If the distressing task of explaining to the older children what it was that had occurred across the border in Hungary had fallen to Sybil, that of trying to distract them from thinking and worrying about what it might portend fell, in no small measure, to Edith. And, thereafter, as things turned out, to Friedrich.

Understandably, the family was desperate for news of those at Rózsafa. So, too, of what, if anything, Conrad Wyss and his chum Bruno Salvatore had been able to arrange to try and spirit Matthew, Mary, and Tom away from Rózsafa by 'plane. However, here at Rosenberg, all anyone could do now was to wait on events, and try and soldier on as best they could.

Given all that had happened, that young Max was able once again to walk unaided, and with Danny also on the mend - Dr. Berger pronouncing himself well satisfied with his progress, as well as that of Simon, was like a ray of bright sunshine amid the Stygian gloom which, like a leaden pall, had descended upon Rosenberg and the family. Edith herself said as much to Sybil.

Confided too, that it was ever thus when Max suffered an accident which resulted in a bout of bleeding or, if, as so often was the case, it simply occurred spontaneously. But, whatever the cause, the whole household was plunged instantly into darkness and despair. Partly, of course, because, if one is honest, no-one likes to see a child in pain, but in this case also because Max was such a delightful, handsome, winning little boy.

And then, equally, when Max was on the road to recovery, was well again, it was as if Rosenberg and everyone in it was bathed in sunshine. Not that Edith herself was a fanciful person, indeed, quite the reverse; was by nature possessed of an intensely practical nature. But she had seen this happen too many times, not to admit that it was indeed so.

* * *

Earlier this evening, while they were still waiting on Tom's promised call from Rózsafa, all attempts to reach the house there by telephone from Rosenberg having proved unsuccessful, although that disquieting fact was known only to the adults, to distract everyone, Edith had offered to show Sybil and the older children some of the slides she had taken out in Egypt, back in 1922, when Howard Carter had discovered the tomb of the boy pharaoh, Tutankhamun. Edith's suggestion had been received with alacrity. Which was why, along with Uncle Friedrich and Max, Danny, Saiorse, and Robert were to be found here in their aunt's Writing Room.

"Aunt Edith, what's it like, for sure, when you're digging?" asked Danny.

"Darling, I told you all about that last year, when we were on the train to Florence. Remember?"

"Tell us again? Please!"

Seeing the four expectant faces, clearly hanging on her every word, Edith relented.

"Oh, very well then".

So, once more, she told of some of the excavations on which she had worked; of sudden sandstorms, of mirages, of treacherous quick sands; of the utter emptiness and vastness of the desert; of scorpions and snakes; of the time when, unexpectedly she had come face to face with an enormous cobra. At which point, here in the Writing Room, an audible hush descended upon Edith's youthful audience.

"Do you know, it was so close, that in the fresh brightness of the early morning light I could even see its eyes glitter. Now, I knew that if I so much as even moved an inch, or cried out for help, the cobra would strike. And the bite is fatal".

"So, what did you do, Mama?" Max asked, wide-eyed, even though he himself had heard the story before.

"I did the only thing I could do, darling. Like when you play musical statues and the music stops. I froze. Stood completely still. I didn't call out. Kept absolutely quiet. All the while my eyes were fixed firmly on the swaying, hooded head of the cobra. Eventually, after what seemed a whole lifetime, the snake lost interest in me, sank down onto the sand. At which point I began backing away, very, very slowly, leaving the cobra to slither off whence it had come, away into the desert".

The three boys were very much impressed.

"I'll be a monkey's uncle! Cripes!" Robert gulped.

"Grand, for sure, Aunt Edith!" exclaimed Danny.

"You were very brave, Mama," whispered Max, clearly extremely proud of his mother.

"Of course, I'd have done the same," said Saiorse flatly.

"No yous wouldn't, sis. You'd have screamed your head off and run a mile! If the snake hadn't got yous first, for sure! Why, at home, yous get frightened if ever there's a spider in the bath!"

"No I don't!"

"Yes, yous do. Da has to catch it for yous and then put it out the window".

Robert sniggered.

Saiorse glared, first at Danny, and then at Robert. How could Danny have been so uncaring as to let everyone here know about her fear of spiders? Especially that wretch Robert. Unbeknown to Saiorse, Robert himself was thinking too. In his case, making a mental note to himself: _Saiorse does not like spiders._

One day, he thought, that knowledge might well come in useful.

* * *

Edith continued with her tale: telling now of ruined temples, of the pyramids; of lush, well- watered, palm fringed oases and of black tented Bedouin encampments, of the richly carpeted, coloured interiors of the tents and of the creak of the guy ropes and poles at night; of long trains of heavily laden camels and vast herds of goats and sheep; of the camaraderie of camp fires and sleeping out under the stars; of the breath taking, wonderful treasures discovered in the Valley of the Kings, in the tomb of the boy pharaoh, Tutankhamun.

* * *

"So, what's Cairo like?" asked Robert a short while later, as together with Max, the two boys helped Freidrich begin moving pictures and small items of furniture aside in order to erect the canvas screen for the lantern slide show.

"Wait until you see the photographs!" laughed Edith.

Robert was nothing if not persistent.

"Well, is it like London?"

"No, it isn't," replied Uncle Friedrich.

"Like Dublin then, for sure," suggested Danny from where he was lying, supported by several pillows, reclining like a male odalisque, legs outstretched, with Fritz curled up at his feet, on Aunt Edith's chaise longue. Danny hated being ill and, just like his father would have been, was chafing at having been made to rest. Not that he had had any choice in the matter. For, despite what Dr. Berger had said, with his head still giving him pain, Ma had said that either Danny sat quietly or no slide show and straight to bed. The choice was his. Not that there really was a choice. For, as Danny knew only too well, there was no gainsaying Ma; certainly not where matters medical were concerned.

"No, not like Dublin either. In fact, there's no where else quite like it".

"Yous mean it's unique, for sure?"

"That's a very good choice of word to describe Cairo. Yes, Danny, it's most definitely unique".

It was now that Sybil returned from helping Nanny Bridges put the younger children to bed. On hearing the word _unique_ , it tugged at Sybil's heartstrings, evoking as it did, memories of the long gone incident involving Tom, Danny and the old motor car radiator. Sybil shot an enquiring look at her eldest son.

"What's _unique_?" she asked, closing the door firmly behind her.

"Cairo," said Saiorse without bothering to look up from where she was seated, at a small table, helping Aunt Edith sort out a second box of glass slides for tonight's show.

Presently giving her full attention to the contents of the box of slides, hearing only Danny's voice, given that, finally, it had fully broken, Edith could almost make believe that it was Tom himself lying there on the chaise longue. But, of course, it did not do to dwell on might-have-beens.

Edith stopped what she was doing and looked up. When it came, her own voice took on a wistful tone.

"Ah, yes, Cairo. The glow of the city from the top of the Citadel, all those domes and minarets, the smells of ..." Seeing Saiorse wrinkle her nose, Edith laughed and, as Sybil took a seat beside her, plied on happily with her description of Cairo.

"Where was I? Oh, yes, the smells. Especially outside the Esbekiya Gardens where the pavement vendors sold, I expect they still do, all kinds of fresh fruit: oranges piled as if they were cannon balls, lemons, dates, and figs; heaps of fish, baskets of onions, along with rings of bread, nuts, dried beans, cheeses of nougat, Turkish delight, and caramels. All of them laid out for sale on the bare earth".

Saiorse screwed up her nose again.

"On the mud! That sounds absolutely disgusting!"

Her aunt laughed.

"To you, yes, I suppose it must".

"The markets in Dublin, they have proper stalls, wooden ones. Don't they Ma?"

Sybil smiled.

"Yes, darling, they do".

"They still smell!" This from Danny.

"No they don't!" exclaimed Saiorse.  
"Yes, they do! I've been down to the ones by the Four Courts, with Da, early in the morning. Remember? The Fish Market on St. Michan's! Raw herrings and mackerel. What a feckin' stench! And the other one, why, it stinks of cabbages and horse shit!"

For a moment no-one said anything.

Uncle Friedrich continued quietly with what he was doing, as if nothing untoward had been said, for their part Rob and Max both stifled sniggers, while Saiorse shook her head in disbelief, knowing full well that in the Branson household the use of such language was not tolerated; would have resulted in Danny receiving a stiff rebuke from Ma and probably a clip round the ear too. Saiorse looked to Ma who seemed not to have even noticed. Sybil had, of course. But, knowing just how on edge they all were, if only for tonight, she had decided to let Danny's swearing pass without further comment.

Edith quickly resumed what it was she had been saying.

"Yes, well, er, they do have proper market stalls in Cairo as well. In the bazaars especially which sell all manner of wares. You can see the shoemakers, tailors, jewellers, and coffee grinders, to name but a few, working in the doorways of their houses or else at the front of their shops. There are the street hawkers too: the lemonade sellers with their glass topped, brass urns, the sherbet vendors, and the water sellers, often in national dress, and festooned with long strings of burnished metal cups that gleam as bright as gold in the sunlight. And then there are the chestnut roasters and the coffee makers selling their wares laid out on the flagstones of the streets, often until well after midnight.

As for the animals, well, there are donkeys with blue bead necklaces, trains of camels, loaded aplenty with different kinds of merchandise, along with herds of cows, and flocks of goats and sheep, braying, snorting, lowing, and bleating, as they are driven through the dusty streets, wending their ways between the people, the trams, and the motors. As you can imagine, it's bedlam. And very, very noisy!"

* * *

 **Matthew and Mary's bedroom, earlier that same day, Rózsafa, Hungary, summer 1933.**

Mary was absolutely incandescent.

Beside her on the side table she caught sight of a group of small, carved, curiously wrought, lidded jars; in seconds, the fingers of her right hand had closed about the nearest of these. She was on the point of picking it up and hurling it at Matthew's head but then, just as she was about to do so, the very air seemed to tingle. Unbidden there came into her mind the memory of the vase which had been smashed at Downton, all those years ago, when Matthew and her then fiancé, Sir Richard Carlisle, had brawled on the floor of the Library. With that in mind, as well as the fact that they were in someone else's house, as the bedroom door closed quietly behind Tom, Mary released her hold on the small jar.

"How dare you keep all of this from me!"  
"For heaven's sake, Mary, keep your voice down! I know you're angry but ..."

"You're bloody right I am! I don't care if the whole damn' house hears what ..."  
"Well I do. And, given what I've told you already, so will you, if you stop to think about it".

Matthew's thinly veiled warning gave Mary a moment's pause for thought. Nonetheless, now low voiced, slowly and deliberately, making use of some of the choice words Sybil had reported she had heard uttered when on duty as a nurse at Downton during the Great War, Mary now vented the full force of her verbal spleen on Matthew.

"You conniving bastard ..."

* * *

When, at last, exhausted, Mary fell silent, sat down heavily on the bed, Matthew joined her there.

"Now," he said calmly, "do you think we can behave like adults? Discuss all of this without trading insults?" His question was posed in the most prosaic of tones, as if nary a single word of what she had just said had escaped her lips. Had Matthew even heard her? Of course he had but he gave no indication that he had. No wonder he was so good a lawyer; so accomplished a diplomat, thought Mary.

"For God's sake, why are you always so bloody reasonable?"

"Because it's in my nature to be so. And because I can't fight you. So, may we, please, do as I suggested a moment ago?"

"We can try".  
"Good. That's a start at least. Darling, believe me, please, when I say I wanted to tell you. Truly, I did. But I was sworn to secrecy".

"So you say. A conspiracy then. Of silence. Between you and the Foreign Office. How cosy for the both of you!"

"I wouldn't put it quite like that".

"Oh? Just how then would you put it?"  
"Not a conspiracy".

"All right. A secret. Rather ... Rather like a marriage, I suppose. Or how a **good** marriage should be. A secret shared between only two people. That's what a marriage is, Matthew. When it works. And which is why, you should have told me about this a very long time ago. Not let me suspect all kinds of ... God knows what ... before, in the end, forcing your hand, and making you tell me. In case it has escaped you, I'm your wife. I had ... I **have** the right to know. Not only for my sake but also for that of our children". Singularly unaware of what she was doing, instinctively, Mary placed her right hand protectively across her lower belly. "Including the one I'm carrying. What if something had happened to you? Answer me that!"

Matthew shrugged dismissively.

"Darling, nothing has".  
"But it might".

"Possibly. I did want to tell you but ..."  
"But what?"  
"Well, as you might imagine, the FO wasn't keen that I ..."  
"At this precise moment, I'm imaging all sorts of things. None of them pleasant".

Matthew grimaced. Swallowed hard.

"Indeed. And, you've every right to feel the way you do".

"How sweet of you to say so! And just how do I feel, Matthew?"  
"I don't know. Angry, aggrieved, hurt, upset ..."  
"Yes, all of those".  
"I'm not surprised".

"How gratifying! But do you know what hurts me the most, is that whatever the Foreign Office might have told you, you didn't trust me enough to tell me".

"Nor Tom. And I know I've hurt him too".  
"Maybe. But we're not talking about Tom. We're talking about **us**. When we married, we promised that we'd have no secrets, you and I. Nothing left unshared. Well, up until now, I've kept my share of the bargain. Don't you think it's high time that you kept your part too?"

Matthew nodded.

"Of course and, in all else bar this, I have. I'm so very sorry that I didn't tell you sooner. Right at the start. When all of this began. With that in mind, you might as well hear the rest of it".

"The rest?"

"When the FO learned that we were going to stay at Rosenberg, at my next meeting with him, Sir Robert ...

"Who?"  
"Sir Robert Vansittart. The Permanent Under Secretary. He was his usual courteous, urbane self, but also maddeningly oblique and periphrastic. All the same, it was quite obvious to me that both he and the FO wanted to avail themselves of the opportunity our visit to Rosenberg might present".

"What do you mean?"

"Vansittart is very suspicious as to Germany's intentions here in Europe, the more so now that Herr Hitler and his Nazis have come to power. _Lower class riff raff with the common touch_ is what Sir Robert called them. And he's not alone in holding to that view. Several other highly placed officials at the FO are of much the same mind".

"I see. So, what exactly did the Permanent Under Secretary have to say?"

While it was not his usual style, Matthew could be sarcastic too.

" _Exactly_? Do you want me to give you the minutes of the entire meeting?"

"Hardly that. Just the gist of it".

"Well then. Put simply, I was informed that while we were at Rosenberg, should the opportunity present itself, then I was to avail myself of it".

"What opportunity?"

"In the parlance of the FO, the opportunity to _appreciate the realities of the position in Hungary_. Whatever that was supposed to mean. I was given to understand that our ambassador here in Budapest, Viscount Chilston, would afford me every assistance. So, when Manfred and Eva asked us to stay at Rózsafa ..."  
"Let me guess. Rather like myself, if given the opportunity to clear Beggars' Hill Brook on Thunderer, you then jumped at the chance".

* * *

Steeply banked, Beggars' Hill Brook lay on the Downton Abbey estate, on the far western edge of Hunter's Spinney. A remote spot, it was extremely foolhardy, not to say downright dangerous for any rider, even an experienced horsewoman such as Mary, to try and attempt to take it in one flying leap; something which Matthew had had to speak to her about on more than one occasion. Sadly, to no avail. This being so, the analogy Mary had just made was not lost on Matthew.

* * *

"Yes, I suppose so".

"No _suppose so_ about it".

"Well, then. Yes".

"An honest answer at last. All that apart, did the Permanent Under Secretary have any advice to offer you about us?"

" **Us**? I don't see ... No, of course not. How could he? It's not his business to do so. Anyway, I don't need anyone to tell me about us".

"Well, clearly you do. Can you, in your wildest dreams, ever imagine Tom and Sybil not sharing something like this?"

That gave Matthew pause for thought.

"No, I suppose not".  
"Again you suppose not? You damn' well suppose right! There's no way on God's earth that they wouldn't!"

"Maybe. All the same, Sybil doesn't know anything about what's happened since we arrived here in Hungary, our meeting with the ambassador ... Any of it".

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I asked Tom not to say anything. And because when he tried to telephone Rosenberg he couldn't get through. Some problem with the line. At least that was what he was told".

"I see. And have you now done so?"

"Have I done what?"  
"Appreciated _the realities of the position in Hungary_?"  
"I think so. Unfortunately, things are far worse than I could have imagined. When Tom and I went to the embassy, it was to be told that the situation here had changed. Dramatically so. As I told you, there is a plot afoot to overthrow the government of Admiral Horthy. What I did not say is that, to use your word, the _conspiracy_ seems to centre on Rózsafa. While the FO is keen to know just what it is that is going on, Chilston was at pains to impress upon both Tom and I that, should we find ourselves in any difficulty down here, then we were on our own. That the British government would disown any knowledge of us".

* * *

 **Tom's bedroom, Rózsafa, Hungary, summer 1933.**

Before Tom could make himself more decent, Unity was upon him.

In the ensuing tussle, Tom lost not only his balance, but also his precarious grip on his towel. Fell backward onto the floor with Unity sprawling on top of him in a tangle of naked limbs. A moment later, Tom became aware, painfully so, of something being wrapped around his neck and then pulled tight. Found himself gasping for breath while at the same time felt a hand reaching between his legs, grasping hold of his manhood.

* * *

 **Edith's Writing Room, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, later that same day.**

The slide show had proved a great success. Edith showing a succession of photographs which she had taken in Cairo back in 1922; before moving away from the Egyptian capital, first out into the desert, to the pyramids at Giza - their sheer size causing gasps of amazement from her youthful audience - thence to Thebes and Luxor, and finally across the River Nile to the Valley of the Kings.

"And this shows one of the ways the Egyptians raise water from their wells". The photograph showed a shadoof.

"It looks like the ones in Hungary. The ones Uncle Manfred told us about, for sure".

"Yes, darling. Exactly the same".

Fortunately, the awkwardness of the moment passed in an instant; Edith moving promptly onto the next slide.

"Now, this photograph was taken across the Nile, in the Valley of the Kings. Again in Egypt".

"What is it?" asked Rob.

"It's a country, eejit! Don't yous know anything?" Saiorse asked, assuming an air of superiority. Evidently her sympathy for Robert had been short lived.

"That will do!" exclaimed Sybil. "Now, young lady, apologise to Robert, this instant".

Unseen, Saiorse scowled; was about to refuse to do as Ma had ordered, but then thought better of it.

"Sorry," she mumbled. Not of course that she was. Not one bit.

"I know Egypt's a country, Clever Clogs!" hissed Robert.  
"So, how do yous spell it then?"  
"E...g...y..."  
"Wrong!"  
Robert was nonplussed.

"I asked yous how yous spell **it**. I ...T. So there!"

"Oh, very funny!"

Irrepressible as ever, despite his sore head, Danny thought it time to turn the tables. He winked broadly at Rob, then suddenly jabbed his finger towards the floor.

"Jaysus, sis! What's that?"

"Where?"

"Over there! On the carpet. By your foot! What's it look like, Rob?"

Rob rose to the occasion magnificently.

"Cripes! It's a huge spider!"

Saiorse let out a piercing scream, Danny gave a low, menacing chuckle, and Robert nearly fell off his chair laughing.

Sybil was not at all impressed.

"Any more nonsense and it's off to bed with the three of you. Is that understood?"

"They started it, Ma!" wailed Saiorse.  
"Not another word!"

"Sorry, Ma!"  
"Yes, sorry, Aunt Sybil".

"Sorry, Ma!"

"Very well then. Now, let that be the end of it".

In the darkness, Edith shook her head. Hoped fervently that as darling Max and dear little Kurt grew older they would be much more caring, both between themselves and towards others.

What passed for normality now resumed.

"But what's the Valley ... What did you say it was called?" Robert turned his head; looked to Aunt Edith for enlightenment.

"The Valley of the Kings, is indeed a valley. In fact, two, situated on the west bank of the Nile, opposite the town of Luxor, of which you've just seen photographs, and where, for over five hundred years, the pharaohs, the rulers of Ancient Egypt, were buried".

Robert nodded.

"Thanks, Aunt Edith".

"My pleasure. And, when the pharaohs died, they were buried here in rock cut tombs, like this one, along with all kinds of riches. But, sadly, down the centuries, many of the tombs were robbed by thieves, all their precious things stolen. Then, after many years of searching, in November 1922, this man, Mr. Howard Carter, found the burial place of the Pharaoh Tutankhamun, who was not much more than a boy when he died. When it was opened, the tomb was found to be undisturbed with everything which had been placed inside it all still there just as when the young pharaoh was laid to rest, over three thousand years ago. I was lucky enough to be there when the tomb itself was officially opened. That was in February 1923. And here are some of the wonderful things I told you about that were found and which are now to be seen in the Egyptian Museum, in Cairo".

There followed a series of slides Edith had taken of some of the treasures which had been brought out of the tomb, among them one of the magnificent death mask of the young pharaoh, made of solid gold and inlaid with semi-precious stones and glass: turquoise, carnelian, obsidian and lapis lazuli.

* * *

"Now this, this is a photograph of Lord Carnarvon, the man who paid for the excavation. And this is Highclere Castle, in Hampshire, in England, which is his family's home. I once stayed here".

"It looks a lot like Downton," observed Robert.

Edith glanced from the sepia photograph of Highclere Castle, over to where Grimshaw's oil painting of _Downton Abbey By Moonlight,_ hung on the wall of her Writing Room.

"Do you know, Robert, until you mentioned it, I'd never realised just how alike the two houses are!"

* * *

But it was one of the other photographs which especially piqued the interest of young Max - a slide showing four small, carved, curiously wrought, lidded jars.

"I know what they are!" he piped.

"Oh?"

"They're Canopic jars".

"Just how on earth do you know that?" asked Edith, clearly amazed by Max's unexpected knowledge of the funerary rites of Ancient Egypt.

"Because I've seen four just like that".

"Where? In a book?"  
"No, Mama. Last year. When we were staying at Rózsafa. Uncle Manfred showed them to me. They were on a little table in one of the bedrooms". Max paused. "Uncle Manfred said they _came from King Tut's tomb_ ".

"Really?"  
"Yes, Mama". Max nodded his head enthusiastically.

"Well, I expect Uncle Manfred was just pulling your leg".

But for all that, Edith could not dispel the feeling that what Manfred had told Max was indeed the truth of it. Knew too, despite every care having being taken, that while most of the finds from the excavation were indeed in the Egyptian Museum in Cairo, with others having been brought back with permission to Highclere Castle, some items from the tomb remained unaccounted for. Recalled the stories current at the time of the tomb's discovery, especially after the sudden, unexpected death of the earl of Carnarvon, about there having been a curse placed on the tomb; that anyone who disturbed the rest of the boy pharaoh or took items from the burial chamber would suffer bad luck, illness, or even death

Not of course that Edith believed in the existence of the curse.

Far from it.

She was far too commonsensical to believe in such nonsense.

And George Herbert, fifth earl of Carnarvon, had died not from the supernatural workings of a pharaonic curse, but from something rather more prosaic even if decidedly unpleasant: blood poisoning caused by a mosquito bite which had then become infected.

* * *

When Max made his startling comment regarding the Canopic jars, had his father been here in the Writing Room he would have been able to shed further light upon their origin, this as a result of something which Manfred had shown him while they were staying at Rózsafa the previous autumn. However, a short while earlier, Feist had come upstairs to inform Friedrich that he was wanted urgently on the telephone, the caller being Professor Praschniker, telephoning from the Archaeological Institute in Vienna which, in the present circumstances, seemed somehow to be rather appropriate.

* * *

 **Old Stables, Rózsafa, Hungary, autumn 1932.**

"How ever did you come by it?" asked Friedrich, eager to learn the provenance of the magnificent, gilded, ebony statue of Anubis, the Egyptian god of the dead, here depicted as a crouching jackal, atop a small, carved, wooden shrine. "And why on earth keep it hidden away out here under a tarpaulin and not on display up at the house?"

"To answer your second question first, because this thing gives Eva the creeps". Manfred smiled. Patted the back of the carved figure. "Ouch!"

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, of course. Just a small splinter". Manfred sucked at the tip of his thumb. "Be that as it may, back in '25, along with the jars I showed you earlier, I bought it off an old Jew who at the time sold curios in a shop on Király utca in Budapest. Apparently, a year or so earlier, he'd acquired a whole crate of Egyptian antiquities from a fellow dealer in Athens. The old man told me this and the jars both came from the Valley of the Kings, in Egypt. I need hardly ask if you know it?"

"Yes, of course I do".

"So, do you think it's likely?"  
"What?"  
Manfred made again to pat the carved figure but then thought better of it.

"That this came from the Valley of the Kings? What was that?"

"What was what?"

Manfred shook his head.

"It must have been the wind. Time we were getting back up to the house. I think there must be a storm coming. But, as I was saying, about this coming from the Valley of the Kings ..."

"Well, given the high standard of the craftsmanship, it's entirely possible. Yes, indeed. Although ..."  
"Although what?"

"Well, if I'm right about its provenance, then I'm very much surprised that the Egyptian authorities in Cairo ever allowed it to leave the country".  
"Ah, yes. Well, to be honest with you, I rather suspect its departure from Alexandria wasn't altogether ... how shall I put it ... strictly legal. No doubt money changed hands! As it happens, the statue and all the rest, including the jars, nearly didn't make it here at all. In fact, I rather wish they hadn't".

"Why, whatever makes you say that?"

"You've heard of the Pharaoh's Curse?"

Friedrich laughed.

"Yes, I have. And so has Edith. It's absolute rubbish! There's no truth in those stories. None whatsoever. Surely, you of all people, don't believe in that kind of nonsense?"

"No. Of course not. Not really".  
"What's that supposed to mean?".

"Well, admittedly the tale the old Jew told me was a bit garbled in the telling, but according to him, during the statue's journey here from Egypt there were several inexplicable accidents".  
" _I_ _nexplicable_ _accidents_?"

"Exactly so. It seems that when the wooden crate was being loaded on board ship in Alexandria there was a most unfortunate incident; a rope broke and as a result a native worker was killed. Thereafter, there was a problem with the ship itself. Something to do with one of the engines, I think, followed by an outbreak of sickness amongst the crew. Quite what that was, I'm not sure. Probably dysentery. Anyway, the sailing was delayed as a result.

Then, not long after the ship had set sail, she ran into a very bad storm in the Mediterranean. When, at last, damaged, and overdue, the vessel finally docked in Piraeus, and the crate was put into store in a warehouse until space could be found for it in the dealer's shop, the warehouse caught fire. At the time, arson was suspected. It was just after that failed royalist coup. At the time, given the precarious situation in Greece, there was yet more delay in sending the crate on by train through the Balkans.

Anyway, with it finally on board and the train on its way, it should have been plain sailing. Sorry about the mixed metaphor! Only it wasn't. Further north a railway bridge was washed away in a flood and, of course, the line had to be repaired before the train could proceed. Then there was a landslip. Yet more delay. There were difficulties, too, with the custom officials, both in Bulgaria and in Roumania. Eventually, however, the crate arrived in Budapest, at the station at Keleti, from where it was taken by motor to the old man's shop on Király utca. But not even that short journey was without incident. A collision occurred between the truck carrying the crate and a tram crossing the Oktogon, and two people were killed: the lorry driver and a passenger on the tram.

And then, not long after I'd purchased both the statue and the jars, it was reported in the newspaper - I saw the article myself - that the old Jew, who was quite well known in Budapest, had slipped, fallen into the Danube, and drowned. Quite how it happened no-one could say. At least not with any degree of certainty. The day, apparently, was misty and it was assumed the old man had simply misjudged where he was. Although there was one, unconfirmed report that he'd tripped over a black animal; some kind of hound was how the witness, a tramp, described it. But as he himself was some distance away, and drunk, no-one took much notice of what it was he said he'd seen happen".

"And you would have me believe, that all of what you've just told me was caused by the workings of a pharaonic curse?" Friedrich snorted his derision.  
"Well, on the face of it, at the time, it did seem that someone, or something, didn't want the artefacts ever to leave Egypt".

Friedrich shook his head.

"Poppycock. A litany of misfortune, certainly. But nothing more than that".

"Well, that being so, you'd have no objection taking it off my hands then?"  
"What do you mean?"

"Well, since Eva won't give this thing house room, I thought I'd donate the statue to a museum. Perhaps the Kunsthistorisches in Vienna?"

"If they could be persuaded to take it".  
"Well, could they? I wondered if you might ..."  
"Have a word? Possibly. But there still remains the question of title".  
"Title?"

"Neither the Kunsthistorisches nor any other reputable museum would entertain the idea of acquiring something like this, if ever there was a question mark hanging over how it came to leave Egypt in the first place. All the same, I'll have a word with the authorities on your behalf".

"Thank you".  
"A word, mark you. Nothing more. And, say nothing at all of this to Edith. In the meantime, the statue stays put here".

* * *

 **Matthew and Mary's bedroom, Rózsafa, Hungary, summer 1933.**

"How very inconvenient for you," retorted Mary, picking up one of the small carved jars, before setting it back again on the table. "But, as it so happens, I know all about your little tête-à-tête with the British ambassador".

"You do?" Matthew sounded incredulous.

"Yes".

"How ..."

Mary smiled.

"I could say it was Second Sight but that wouldn't really be true. Let's just say I too have my own share of diplomatic secrets".

"Courtesy of Tibor, no doubt! That boy has a great deal to learn if he expects to survive in this business".

"Did I say anything about Tibor?"  
"No, but it stands to reason".

"Does it?" Mary arched an expressive brow. "Speaking of Tibor ..."  
"Which we weren't".  
"Well, we are now. Where exactly is he? Eva spun me some half baked tale - not that I believe a word of it - that he's driven over to a neighbouring estate to collect some other house guests for tonight's dinner. Those who, apparently, could not be accommodated here".

"That's what Eva told you?"  
"Yes".  
"It may be so. At least in part".

"What do you mean _in part_?"

"That he's not here is true enough. But as it so happens ... Good Lord! What on earth was that?"

* * *

 **Drawing Room, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, later that same evening.**

With the children having gone to bed, Friedrich, Edith, and Sybil were sitting together, taking coffee in the Drawing Room and, in the case of Sybil, still awaiting, with mounting concern, a telephone call from Tom.

"So, what did Professor Praschniker want?" asked Edith setting down her cup in its saucer.

Friedrich shook his head.

"It wasn't the professor on the telephone. That was just a blind".  
"A blind? Then who on earth was it?"

"One of our Jewish friends from Leopoldstadt. Goldstein. He had news". Friedrich paused. "From Bucharest".

"News? You mean news of Conrad?"

Friedrich nodded.

"He's found a 'plane? Oh, thank Heaven!"

Friedrich shook his head.

"No. I don't know how to tell you this".

"Friedrich, you're beginning to frighten me. What is it?"

"I told you that the Athénée Palace Hotel was a nest of damned spies?"

"Yes. Yes, you did. What of it?"

"Well, the plain fact is ..."

* * *

The news from Bucharest, if true, and there seemed no reason to disavow it, was absolutely appalling. Apparently, wind of what Conrad Wyss and his pal Bruno Salvatore were planning to do in order to try and rescue those trapped at Rózsafa had leaked out. How was unclear. Not that it really mattered. An informant. An injudicious word here. A conversation overheard there. The result was all too predictable. Both men had been arrested by the Roumanian authorities, tried forthwith by a hastily convened military court, the charge being one of espionage, found guilty, and sentenced to death by firing squad.

* * *

Both Edith and Sybil were horrified.

"Dear God! What a nightmare!" cried Sybil.

"There's no hope for them, is there?" asked Edith, her voice faltering.

"There's always hope," said Friedrich.

Sybil shook her head sadly.

"No. There isn't. None at all".

And while she was, of course sorry for both Wyss and Salvatore, it was not them of whom she was now thinking.

 **Author's Note:**

Bobo was the nickname by which Unity Mitford was known. She is said to have engaged in sado-masochistic practices with Count Janos Almásy, including auto-asphyxiation, using a silken cord, which she called her "little gaspers".

"I'll be a monkey's uncle" and "cripes"are English expressions of surprise.

The markets to which Danny refers were the wholesale fruit and vegetable market and the fish market, opened by the Dublin Corporation in 1892 and 1897, on sites immediately north-east of the Four Courts.

Sir Robert Gilbert Vansittart, 1st Baron Vansittart GCB GCMG MVO PC (1881-1957) was Permanent Under Secretary at the Foreign Office from 1930 to 1938. He is best remembered for his opposition to the appeasement of Nazi Germany.

Highclere Castle, the home of the earls of Carnavon, is, of course, the real life setting for the fictional Downton Abbey. With this particular chapter, it seemed too good an opportunity not to somehow work it into the story.

Employed during the mummification process, Canopic jars were four vessels in which were stored the viscera of their owner for use in the Afterlife.

Professor Camillo Praschniker (1884-1949) was a renowned Austrian archaeologist.

An unsuccessful, pro-royalist coup had taken place in Greece in October 1923.

Kunsthistorisches - the Museum of Fine Art in Vienna.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

A Tale Of Two Hounds

 **Tom's Bedroom,** **Rózsafa, Hungary, summer 1933.**

Almost on the point of blacking out, with the sound of blood pounding in his ears, now gasping for breath, Tom sought to fight off Unity's clutching hands, tearing frantically with his fingers at the cord encircling his neck. Then, to his infinite relief, the choking pressure round his windpipe suddenly eased. Fists flailing, Tom kicked hard with his bare feet. Had the satisfaction of hearing the bitch scream.

* * *

 **Edith's Writing Room,** **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, evening, that same day.**

Some time later, with the slide show at an end, mindful of their manners, Danny, Saiorse, and Robert thanked Aunt Edith, and Max his Mama, for all she had done to keep them so well entertained. Friedrich and Sybil also voiced their heartfelt thanks; for, even if the four children knew some of what was happening over there in Hungary, whether or not they fully understood the implications, only the adults knew exactly what was at stake.

Thereafter, Robert and Max helped Friedrich restore the various pictures and furnishings back to their rightful places. This done, the four children said their good nights, before going to wash faces, clean teeth, change into night clothes, and then settle down in bed. With Danny, Rob, and Saiorse having made it perfectly clear that they didn't need anyone coming to tuck them in, not wanting to be thought a baby, especially not in front of Danny and Rob, Max decided to follow suit; despite the fact that having Mama tuck him in at night was very much a bedtime ritual.

"I'm ten years old, Mama," he said firmly.

Edith looked quizzically at her son; half guessed what it was that Max might be about to say.

"Yes, darling, I know exactly how old you are. While you may not remember it, I was there when you were born!"

"No, Mama. That is ... what I mean is ... I don't need you to tuck me in". Friedrich, Edith, and Sybil exchanged amused glances.

"Well, goodnight, old boy," said his father, rising to the occasion, and shaking Max by the hand.  
"Goodnight. Papa".

"Am I to assume that you're too grown up for me to kiss you goodnight?"  
"No, Mama. Of course not!" Max's lower lip trembled; he blushed. Delightfully so. Dutifully let his mother kiss him on the cheek and ruffle his sandy hair.

"Goodnight, my darling".

"Goodnight, Mama". Max made his mother a formal, half obeisance; Edith played along and kept a straight face.

* * *

Unbeknown to the adults, there was another, rather more pressing reason as to why tonight the children wanted to be left to their own devices. Surreptitiously, Danny had promised to tell them the tale of the Pharaoh's Curse, including giving as full account as he could of the strange deaths and odd happenings that had followed hard upon the discovery of the tomb of the boy pharaoh, Tutankhamun.

With the adults safely out of the way downstairs in the Drawing Room, the babies and the other children fast asleep, and Nanny Bridges ensconced in her room - Rob having peered through the keyhole just to make certain thankful to find that she was dozing in her chair - quiet as church mice, Robert, Max, and Saiorse scurried barefoot along the corridor to Danny's bedroom.

* * *

 **Danny's Bedroom, Rosenberg, later that same evening.**

And now, here they all were, Danny sitting up in bed in his vest and pyjama bottoms, beside him, in the armchair, Saiorse in her white night dress and brown dressing gown, Rob and Max in their blue and white striped pyjamas, both sitting cross-legged on the end of the bed, Max with Fritz curled up, snoozing in his lap. And with all the lights out; Danny having said that it would make the tale far better in the telling, if he told it in the dark. Save that was for the flickering flame of a solitary candle, lit with Danny's own box of matches.

Mindful of the fact that Saiorse, Rob, and Max all had to be back in their respective beds well before Ma, Uncle Friedrich and Aunt Edith came upstairs, in a hushed tone, Danny straightway began his story, while outside the night drew down, and beyond the walls of the house, the wind began to moan.

* * *

As Danny unfolded his eerie tale, Saiorse and Rob sat hushed, listening intently, while for his part, young Max was all eyes. Danny told of the widely held belief that if anyone ever dared to disturb the pharaoh's tomb, then they would suffer dire misfortune; being dogged by ill luck, illness, and even ... death. He told, too, of the jackal headed God, Anubis, who feasted off the hearts of men, who had a head much like that of a wild dog, with a sharp nosed muzzle, and a pair of pointed ears.

"Deliver me from that god whose face is that of a hound!" Danny whispered hoarsely. He chuckled, while Max looked nervously down at little Fritz lying fast asleep in his lap.

But when Saiorse interrupted, said she didn't believe a word about the silly jackal headed god, Robert, who usually did his very best to ignore her rudeness, told her to shut up; to let Danny say his piece. Rather surprisingly, Saiorse meekly nodded her head; lapsed into silence, as Danny proceeded to explain how Lord Carnarvon had died a most horrible death and at that very moment, all over Cairo, the lights went out. That Lord Carnarvon's secretary, the first person, after Mr. Carter, to enter King Tut's tomb, had been found brutally murdered, while another archaeologist connected with the excavation had hanged himself, but not before he had left a note, written in his own blood ... that he was cursed.

Danny told, too, how Mr. Carter had given someone a paperweight. While giving a friend a present was not in itself unusual, what it was made from most certainly was. Namely a mummified hand; around the severed wrist was clasped a bracelet on which there was inscribed a charm, the words of which cursed anyone who dared to enter its owner's tomb and disturb his rest. Not long afterwards the man's house burned down. And then, of course, there was what had happened to the canary.

"What's that?" Max asked, unfamiliar with the word.

"A little bird, kept in a cage," explained Robert.

Max nodded.

"Danke". He smiled.

"And?" Saiorse asked.

Danny went on to relate that when the canary's owner, who had been helping Mr. Carter on the dig, returned home to his house near the excavation, it was to find a giant cobra, "just like the one your Ma saw, Max", had killed and eaten the canary; was now sitting, reared up, in the bird's cage. And the cobra was a symbol of the dead pharaoh!

"Even though it was absolutely enormous, the snake had managed to slither inside the house without anyone seeing it!"

At which point, subconsciously, Saiorse raised her feet from off the floor and tucked them under herself; while Rob and Max cast nervous glances down at the floor, as if they half expected to see something come slithering out of the shadows, making its way at a fearful speed across the carpet, towards the bed, its head raised, poised to strike.

* * *

"That's if it was a snake, for sure!" Danny chuckled.

"But ... what ... what else could it have been?" asked Robert, nervously.

Now, it was probably nothing more than a draught, caused by a gust of wind from outside, but at that very moment, beside the bed, the bedroom curtains billowed inwards, while, on the nightstand, the candle flame flickered, guttered, and then went out; plunging the room into total darkness. Danny laughed; promptly struck another match and relit the candle.

"Maybe, the ghost of the dead pharaoh! So, there!" he exclaimed triumphantly. Conscious that a slightly creepy feeling had descended upon the room, Rob, Max, and Saiorse looked nervously one to the other.

"Cripes!" exclaimed Rob.

"Gottchen!" whispered Max, wide eyed.

"Hm!" Saiorse did not seem unduly worried. At least, not now the candle had been relit.

"Moryah! Ya coddin' us!"

Danny was having none of that.  
"Amn't!"

"Ya are!"  
"I'm not coddin' ya, sis! It's true! Cross my heart and hope to die!" With an exaggerated flourish, Danny sketched a rough cross on his vest, over his heart.

Saiorse shook her head.

"Ya must t'ink I'm an eejit! Aunt Edith said it wasn't true. She called it ..." Saiorse paused; trying to recollect exactly what it was that Aunt Edith had said to Ma, when earlier, during the showing of the slides, Danny had raised the matter of the Pharaoh's Curse. "The power ... of something or other".

"Of superstition," supplied Robert with a grin.

While he was right, Rob's intervention did nothing to endear him to Saiorse who merely tossed her head contemptuously, before continuing with what she had been about to say.

"Aunt Edith was there! As I said, moryah!"

Max and Rob exchanged mystified glances; each shrugged his shoulders, shook his head. These days, while Max's command of English was reasonably good, save for some of Danny's more colourful utterances, neither he nor Rob had any knowledge of Irish colloquialisms.

Danny looked a little crestfallen. This gave Saiorse some small measure of satisfaction but, oddly enough, not as much as she would have imagined. Not that she would admit it, but part of the reason she was prepared to dismiss out of hand what Danny had told them was that she was still annoyed with her brother for earlier having revealed to one and all her intense dislike and fear of spiders. As for the trick he and that wretch Robert had then played on her, well ...

* * *

Danny shrugged his shoulders.

"Say what ya like, sis. I read about it in _Boy's Own._ Ya know, that annual Da and Ma bought me for Christmas last year. After Connor Murphy told me about it, at school. All those people dying, the lights going out over Cairo ... And it was in all the papers. I remember Da talking about it too, for sure". Danny chose deliberately to make use of their father's name. After all, it wasn't as if Da was ... dead.

And Ma had said that, despite all the trouble, along with Uncle Matthew and Aunt Mary, Da would soon be back here, safe and sound. Maybe a couple of days later than expected, but it was only a matter of time. It did all depend as to when they could get on a train. However, given Danny's experience of the trains back in Ireland which were often slow and usually late, that was not especially reassuring;

All the same, Ma had said not to worry. That they should carry on as if Da was here with them. To remember the happy times, when they had all been together; as undoubtedly they would be again. And soon. Only Danny found that mentioning Da didn't make things any easier. In fact, hadn't helped at all.

Although he said nothing to the others, least of all to Saiorse, Danny was haunted by the image of what he had seen earlier today, down there in the kitchen. Of Ma kneeling on the flagstones, her arms clasped about her, silently rocking to and fro, saying not a single word. If ... if Da didn't come home, just as had happened to Jimmy Lynch, whose own father had been knocked down and killed by a tram on O'Connell Street, then he, Danny, would become the man of the Branson household. While he would do his very best to look after Ma, darling Bobby, little Dermot, even Saiorse, would he be up to the task? Or would he be found wanting? Danny already knew the answer; which was why he mouthed a silent prayer, much as his mother had done:

Da, please, please come home!

* * *

For Saiorse, mention of that _Boy's Own_ annual was as a red rag to a bull. For Christmas last year she had asked for the _Girl's Own_ annual but while there had been everything else in her stocking, the annual was not; apparently, it had been overlooked by Da and Ma. For, even if darling Bobby still believed in Father Christmas, she and Danny did not. Now here was Danny making mention of Da when for all they knew, he might be ...

"As for the lights going out in Cairo, they did that in Florence last year!"

Saiorse looked sweetly at Robert.

"Do ya know where that is?" she asked innocently.

"Yes, of course I do!" Robert glowered at Saiorse.

"Well, I never! Wonders will never cease! Anyway, I'm for bed!"

And, off she flounced, without so much as a single word of thanks; closing the bedroom door firmly behind her.

* * *

Switching on the beside light, Danny leaned over and blew out the candle. Although he tried not to show it, he was feeling what Rob would have described as _miffed_.

Rob jabbed a thumb at the door.

"Don't mind her, Dan! It was a damned good story!"

Max, too, could see that his Irish cousin was upset. Nodded his head in agreement.

"Ja! Danke schön!" He smiled.

It was now that an idea began to take shape in Danny's fertile mind.

"Max?"

"Ja?"

"Do ya have any plasticine?"

Max looked questioningly at Danny. A moment later and the penny dropped.

"Plas ... Ah! Plastilin Ja!"

"We'll need a cricket ball, a length of twine ..."

"Twi ... twin ... ?" Max shrugged.

"String!"

"Ah, die Saite!"

"And, Fritz, for sure!"

" **Fritz**?"  
Danny chuckled.

"What are you up to?" asked Rob.  
"Yous'll see, for sure!"

On hearing his name mentioned, Fritz opened an enquiring eye. This, he thought, did not bode well. He had so been so looking forward to enjoying a peaceful, undisturbed night's sleep.

* * *

 **Matthew and Mary's bedroom, Rózsafa, Hungary, afternoon, that same day.**

"God knows!" Mary shook her head.  
"For a moment there, I thought it sounded like Tom".

" I don't much care who it sounded like. Anyway, whatever it was, don't try and change the subject".

"I wasn't. At least I didn't mean to".

"You were saying, a moment ago?"

"Was I?"  
"Yes, you were. About Tibor".

"No matter".  
"I think it matters a very great deal. I've had enough prevarications, half truths, let alone lies, to last me a lifetime. Including you pretending that this trip was, at least in part, made for my benefit".

"How so?"

"When Manfred kindly offered to show me the horses here at Rózsafa, to go riding, you raised no objection. None at all. I suppose I should have realised you were being far too accommodating. So, no more of that, if you please!"

Matthew winced. What Mary had said was, at least, in part true. Manfred's invitation to pay a visit to Rózsafa had seemed too good an opportunity to miss. For which, Mary's love of horses and riding was the perfect foil. But now, given all that Tom and he had learned since, this whole trip was turning into a bloody nightmare. What was more, there was the very real prospect of ... No, don't think about that. At least, not yet.

"Very well then. It's true enough ..."  
"What is?"  
"That Tibor's gone to collect other guests for this evening's dinner but ..."  
"But what?"

"Also, I suspect, to ascertain if there are yet any signs of Hungarian troop movements in the immediate area".

"Hungarian troop movements?"

"If the idiots down here plotting a coup against the Regent really believe that the authorities in Budapest are unaware of what is being planned, then they are in for a very rude awakening. Perhaps if they had begun by using their brains instead of their ... No, on second thoughts, if they ever started doing that, then we might all be in real trouble! As it is ... Good God!"

Matthew rose from where he was sitting beside Mary, strode across the room, and flung wide the door. Through the open doorway, Mary heard the sound of raised voices; one of them was that of a woman, clearly in some distress, while the other, surprisingly, was that of her Irish brother-in-law. In a trice, Mary was across the room and standing behind Matthew who, sensing her presence turned, shook his head. Now positioned himself in the open doorway so that, short of shoving him aside, Mary could not see what was happening.

"Darling, no. It's not seemly that you should ..."  
" **Seemly**?" Given what the two of them had been discussing but a matter of minutes ago, what Matthew had just said sounded utterly preposterous. Mary found herself fighting back a sudden urge to laugh. "Matthew, do you know who you sound like?"  
" _Who I sound like_?" Matthew's brows knitted in confusion.

"That pompous ass, Travis!"  
"Travis?"

"The late, decidedly so, Reverend Travis. That's who! Granny always said he was a pompous ass".  
"Oh, him?"  
"Yes, him! Now, let me see!"

"Very well".

Matthew stood aside; let his wife pass by him, into the corridor.

"Oh, my goodness!"

* * *

 **Max's Bedroom, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, later that night.**

Downstairs in the Drawing Room the three adults were still digesting the implications of the dreadful news from Bucharest. There seemed little reason to doubt the veracity of it, said Friedrich. While the line from the Café Jakob near the Westbahnhof in Vienna had been bad, Goldstein had been quite precise in the details he had imparted.

Meanwhile, upstairs, Danny, Rob, and Max were all still wide awake and, this being so, unsurprisingly, not in bed. Were instead to be found kneeling on the floor in Max's bedroom, while, in a decidedly grumpy mood, Fritz pottered his way to and fro behind them. This was not how he had intended spending his night: first being made to sit still on the bed, then having his head turned first this way and then that, and his ears held up. It was Fritz's considered opinion that he would have been far better off if he had been allowed to stay downstairs in his basket the kitchen.

* * *

Of course, had it not been for the fact that, if only for tonight, Nanny Bridges was sharing young Rebecca's room, on account of her young charge running a slight temperature, with Saiorse sleeping instead in the bedroom directly below that belonging to Max, none of what now ensued would have happened. This, and Danny's desire to teach his sister a lesson.

A moment later, and the three boys sat back to admire their handiwork.

"Grand!" pronounced Danny.

Rob was not convinced. While he had no qualms about playing a trick on Saiorse, especially after upsetting Danny the way she had, let alone her repeated rudeness towards himself, he was not at all sure they could pull it off.

"Do you really think it'll work?"  
"It will, for sure!" Danny tapped the side of his nose.

"Then ... great!" Rob laughed. Sitting beside him, cross legged on the floor, Max giggled. Nodded his head. Being with Danny and Rob was always fun; the more so when the three of them were engaged upon something ever so slightly nefarious. As was now the case. Tonight, their retelling of the mock trial they had inflicted upon Simon's much loved teddy bear, Oscar, had had their young Austrian cousin in stitches.

* * *

Max cocked his head to one side.

"Viel größer," he said after a few moments of thoughtful deliberation.

"What?" asked Rob.

"Viel größer," repeated Max; spread his hands wide. "The ears. They should be bigger". He pointed up at the ceiling, at his father's model of the Albatross D-III. Danny and Rob followed their cousin's gaze, to where Max's much prized collection of model aeroplanes hung suspended on lengths of fine cotton.

"Die Albatross ... the wings ..." To emphasise what he meant, Max spread his hands again.

"Ah, I see what you mean". Rob nodded. "Make the ears bigger! Why, yes! Max, old boy, you're right!"

"For sure!"

" **Much**!" giggled Max, before once more gathering Fritz up in his arms and depositing him back on the bed. "Jetzt Frittie, setz dich still!"

Fritz growled his displeasure. His basket in the kitchen seemed an increasingly attractive proposition. Of course, just quite how he was going to make it all the way down there, unaided, from his young master's bedroom, remained to be seen.

* * *

 **Somewhere northwest of Rózsafa, Hungary, earlier that same day.**

The summer storm had long since passed away to the northwest, over towards Budapest.

Out on the flat expanse of the Alfold the sky and the land appeared scoured clean by the sudden deluge; the air still damp, redolent of freshly turned earth, of wet grass, but now, in the heat of the late afternoon sunshine, everything steamed.

Hereabouts, the smells, and sights, were of a rather different kind. Wood smoke spiralled languidly upwards from a dozen or more camp fires, mingled with the disparate smell of cooking and tobacco; of rifle oil, graphite grease, and burnt cordite; of leather and horses; of damp clothes, sour sweat, and stale urine.

For over an hour since there had been a near constant roar of motors and rumble of wheels; the jingle of harness and whinnying of horses; the relentless tramp of booted, marching feet; the sounds of crisply barked orders, a brief drum roll, and a short volley of bugle calls. Closer at hand, in a throaty roar and a fug of choking fumes, a dispatch rider set off on a motor bike, someone struck a match, lit a cigarette, while another coughed as he relieved himself behind a crumbling wall.

Sheltered by a grove of birch trees, along with its ruined outbuildings, the blackened shell of the long abandoned mansion bore mute witness to the passage of the victorious Roumanian army, which had swept through, looting and burning, before occupying Budapest in the summer of 1919; bringing, too, an end to the Red Terror and Béla Kun's short-lived Hungarian Soviet Republic. However, the military camp established here tonight belonged not to the Roumanians, but to the _Magyar Királyi Honvédség,_ the Royal Hungarian Army. The troops were going about a web of duties: drilling, inspecting arms and ammunition, moving stores, cleaning kit, and shining boots while those unlucky enough to be on fatigues found themselves digging out latrines.

In what once had been the entrance hall of the house, a group of officers were gathered together, listening intently to the only man among them not in uniform.

"... there being little more that I can add. From what I have been able to ascertain, as well as from my own observations, the main force of the rebel troops numbers just under the strength of a _Vegyesdandár_ ; both infantry and cavalry, and stationed here". Tibor jabbed his forefinger at the map spread out on the makeshift table. "East of the Tisza, close to Szentes. In addition, they have field artillery; 4.5-inch howitzers and 18-pounders. Not much of an army".

Tibor's opinion of the enemy forces found favour with the others who voiced or nodded their assent; even General Rőder.

"Indeed. As you say, not much of an army. Tell me, captain, in all the time you spent at the Academy, did they teach you nothing?"

Bemusement showed clearly in Tibor's face.

"Forgive me, sir, I don't understand".

"Don't you? Do any of you?"

The general was not a patient man. All the same, he now proceeded to explain exactly what he meant.

"Gentlemen, the late king had much the same size of force when he marched on Budapest in October '21. Had it not been for his mistaken belief that the result was a foregone conclusion, delaying his advance until it became a ceremonial progress, then he and his army would have succeeded in entering the capital and restoring the Habsburg dynasty by military force. What I am speaking of, is the danger inherent in underestimating one's opponent. A mistake which many military commanders have made. One which I myself do not propose to repeat. Now, as to dispositions. Captain Csáky will be in command of the company attacking the kastély, a necessary diversion. As to the rest of you ..."

* * *

Back behind the wheel of the Maybach, this time heading north to Erdőtelek, Tibor glanced at his watch. If he was to be back at Rózsafa in time to change for dinner and to continue playing the part of the perfect house guest, then he would need to step on it.

* * *

 **Rózsafa, earlier that same afternoon.**

"Tom!"

Matthew could not conceal his surprise, seeing his brother-in-law out in the corridor, wearing nothing but a towel. Putting aside their present difficulties, while in truth Mary had eyes for only one man, she could not help but admire her Irish brother-in-law's manly physique. She had done so once before, long ago, in Dublin, just after Tom had been given a beating by officers of the city police. On that occasion, Mary had seen him stripped to the waist while Sybil ministered to his cuts and bruises. Took in again the patch of light hairs nestling in the middle of his chest; saw where the curling hairs darkened, thickened, disappeared from view beneath his towel.

Took in too, albeit rather more briefly, the kimono clad figure of a young woman, scuttling away down the corridor in the opposite direction but in time to catch sight of who it was: Unity Mitford.

Tom was livid.

"When I came out of the bathroom ... that bloody bitch! She was there! In my feckin' bed!" Suddenly, painfully aware of the incongruous sight he must present, standing in the corridor, wearing nothing but a towel, Tom blushed. A moment later, his sense of humour came to the fore. "Jaysus! Don't either of yous say a t'ing about this to Sybil!"

"No, of course not!"

"We wouldn't dream of it!"  
"Have yous two managed to ..."  
Matthew looked at Mary. Was relieved when he saw her smile.

"I think so. Yes, we have".

Mary nodded her assent.

"For better or for worse, yes".  
"You'd better go and put some clothes on!"  
"For sure!"

"And, Tom ..."  
"What?"

"This time, for God's sake, lock your blasted door!" Matthew grinned.

"I will, for sure!"

* * *

 **Matthew and Mary's bedroom, a short while later.**

Back in the privacy of their own bedroom, Matthew and Mary collapsed onto the bed in a fit of laughter before trying to compose themselves.

"Oh, Tom! The poor, poor darling!"  
"I think he gave that little minx a send off which she'll never forget!"

"It's about time someone did!"

A private message now passed between the two of them. A moment later, Matthew rose from the bed, crossed to the door and, as he had enjoined Tom to do, turned the key in the lock.

"Matthew! What if anyone should come ..."

"They won't. After all, as far as everyone else knows, you're resting, remember?"

Mary nodded.

"Yes, indeed".

"That being so, I think the question you should be asking is how the devil are we going to pass the next couple of hours, before we have to change for dinner".

"Oh? Do you have something in mind?"

"Perhaps".

A moment later, Matthew had joined her on the bed again; it becoming quickly apparent how it was he thought they should spend the time in question. Not that Mary was at all averse; recalled that some of their best bed sport had followed hard upon the heels of a disagreement. And this proved to be another of those occasions.

* * *

"Not that anyone will, of course, but just for sake of argument, if say at dinner, someone was to ask how you'd spent the afternoon, what would you say?"

In the afterglow of making love, lying here within the comforting circle of Matthew's arms, Mary gave the matter her full, undivided consideration.

"Well, given all that you've since told me, about your ... other activities, I suppose I'd say ..." She paused; felt Matthew's hands gently moulding her breasts, nudging her legs apart. Knowing what both betokened, she gave him a broad grin, one which surpassed even his own.

"Have to say what?" Matthew whispered.

"That I'd spent the afternoon in the service of my king!"

* * *

 **Max's Bedroom, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

Made from out of a thick layer of plasticine, moulded firmly round one of Max's cricket balls, the dog's head, modelled on that of Fritz, albeit with a more pointed muzzle and now much larger, pointed ears, bore an excellent resemblance to the head of the Egyptian god of the dead, Anubis.

"Tis grand, for sure!" laughed Danny.

"It is!" agreed Robert, looking over his shoulder from where he was now standing by the open window. He turned back and leaned out over the cill. "But how on earth do we get it all the way down to ..."

Standing beside Rob, without his mother here to gainsay him, Max scrambled up onto the window cill. Kneeling down, he leaned forward, out into the wet, windswept, blackness of the night, peering at the rain soaked flagstones of terrace, some forty feet below.

"Max! Careful!" Rob placed a restraining pair of hands upon his young cousin's shoulders.

Turning his head, Max nodded; dutifully shifted himself down.

* * *

The cotton used to suspend the model aeroplanes from the ceiling had proven too light and, while Max had at last found some string in one of drawers in his bedroom, the length was far too short.

"What we need, for sure, is some kind of line," observed Danny.

Again it was Max who came up with a suggestion.

"What about one of Papa's fishing rods?"  
"Grand, Max!"  
"You're an absolute genius!"

Max beamed with pleasure.

"So, where are they kept?" asked Danny.

"Downstairs, in the hall; by the front door". Max sounded doubtful.

"I'm game, if you are," said Rob.

"Game?"  
"I'll come with you".

Max nodded.

"Danny?"

"I'll stay here, for sure. No need for all of us to go". Danny felt all-in. After recounting the story of the Pharaoh's Curse, then kneeling down on the floor of Max's bedroom, concentrating on what they had been doing, his head was beginning to ache again.

* * *

Barefoot, Max and Rob ran quietly along the corridor, as far as the head of the stairs. Shrank back hastily against the wall when, below them, they caught sight of Kleist making his way sedately across the hall, towards the door of the Drawing Room, bearing a silver tray upon which there stood a coffee pot.

Max felt something wet nuzzle his ankle. Looking down, saw it was Fritz.

"Frittie, was machst du den hier?"

The little dog looked up and gave a short, sharp bark. To silence him, Max swept Fritz up into his arms, burying his muzzle in the folds of his pyjama jacket. This did not please Fritz one little bit who squirmed first this way and then that, attempting to extricate his now muffled head. Downstairs in the hall, Kleist paused. That had been the young master's dog. The butler looked cautiously about him. He had not forgotten the time when, as now, he had been carrying a tray, and had nearly gone sprawling over the blasted animal.

"Verdammter Hund!"

The butler resumed his stately progress across the hall, knocked on the Drawing Room door, and disappeared inside. Whereupon, the two boys made their way down the stairs, Max with Fritz still in his arms, thence across the hall, and into the small vestibule, divided from the entrance hall by a pair of glass doors to help keep out draughts. Then, while they were still trying to decide which fishing rod would best suit their purposes, the telephone started to ring. The door of the Drawing Room opened, and Max's father came out into the hall; crossed quickly to the table by the front door, and picked up the receiver.

Hearing who it was, Friedrich could not conceal his surprise.

"Sind Sie es?"

* * *

Here in the vestibule, crouching down in the shadows, the two boys froze. Max knew that if Fritz barked again, unlike Feist, Papa was bound to come and investigate. Fortunately, his father's telephone call proved to be of very short duration. A matter of minutes later Max heard the receiver being replaced and Papa returning whence he had come. It was just as well, because Robert was already suffering from cramp in his left leg and, what was far worse, Fritz now managed to wriggle free out of Max's arms. In a trice, he was trotting out across the hall, heading straight for the baize door, just as fast as his little legs would carry him. Taking advantage of the fact that the coast was again clear, having found what they had come for, leaving Fritz to make his own way down to the kitchen, the two boys scampered back upstairs.

* * *

Feeling a little better, with the plasticine head of Anubis attached firmly to the end of the fishing line, Danny began lowering it downwards, until he judged it to be about level with the lighted window of Saiorse's bedroom.

* * *

 **Saiorse's Bedroom, Rosenberg.**

Unable to sleep, knowing that Danny too must be hurting, just as much as she herself was, over this awful business of Da, Saiorse decided she should go and apologise. Was about to do so when, having put on her dressing gown, from outside the shuttered window, there now came a sudden, dull thud. Mystified, Saiorse clambered onto the window seat and listened. Sure enough, there it was again. Cautiously, she reached up, unbarred the shutters, pulled them open, peering out through the window into the rain soaked darkness. At which point, the moon drifted out from behind a heavy bank of cloud, its pale light revealing the source of the strange noise.

Gazing in at her from outside the window was the head of a dog. One with a long pointed muzzle and a pair of equally pointed ears. Just like ... For one brief moment, not that she would ever have admitted it, Saiorse was truly startled.

And then, the unthinkable happened.

Despite Danny's best efforts to keep control of it, caught by a sudden vicious gust of wind, the clay covered cricket ball began to oscillate back and forth, gaining in velocity, until it struck hard against the pane of the window which shattered, showering Saiorse with broken glass.

* * *

 **Somewhere west** **of Bucharest, Kingdom of Roumania, summer 1933.**

In the powder keg of the Balkans, especially in the febrile atmosphere of the Athénée Palace Hotel, that yet another plot was afoot, had proven comparatively easy to set in train. A judicious word here, another there, the slow drip of information, and of misinformation, of claim, and then counter claim, had made it seem very credible. Soon had the Roumanians chasing shadows; if not their own tails.

Nonetheless, the unlooked for encounter with secret agents of the Kingdom of Roumania had proven a close run thing but, in the end, it had served their purposes well. This and the fact that Conrad Wyss knew Mihail Moruzov, the head of the Serviciul Special de Informații, the intelligence service of the Roumanian Army. In fact, not only knew him, but knew him well; thus enabling Conrad to call in a favour or two. And in so doing, in the resultant chaos and confusion, allowed the story to be put about by the Roumanian government that an attempt to betray Transylvania to the Hungarians had been discovered. That those implicated had been captured, tried, and convicted.

That the Roumanian authorities appropriated to themselves, as was often the way of governments, the kudos of the discovery and the foiling of what, after all, had never existed in the first place, did not unduly concern Conrad. For, while the furore lasted, it cleared the way for he and Salvatore to continue making their own plans for which time was now of the essence.

* * *

Seated in the semi enclosed cockpit of the Junkers F13, the men exchanged glances. The moment of truth. Seconds later, the 185 horsepower, water cooled engine of the duralumin monoplane roared into life. Cautiously, Wyss opened up the throttle and the aeroplane began to inch forward. Slowly at first, indeed, painfully so, yet all the while gathering speed, until, Wyss risked giving the engine full throttle. Moments later, the 'plane was bouncing across the wet grass of the makeshift runway.

Ahead of them in the gathering darkness, a hayrick loomed large. To attempt to abort the flight now would spell disaster. With all the strength he could muster, Wyss pulled back hard on the joystick, breathing a hurried, silent prayer to the Almighty.

At the very last possible minute, the wheels of the Junkers lifted clear of the ground. With only inches to spare, in a whirlwind flurry of scattered stalks and wisps of straw, the monoplane skimmed the top of the hayrick, the F13 climbing steeply, heading westwards, into the darkening sky.

Even at this low altitude, against the roar of the wind, conversation was impossible. Instead, each gave the other a thumbs up. They were off and away; praying that the hasty repairs to the engine held; effected as they had been, out here in the middle of nowhere, with a handful of rudimentary tools, and undertaken by the flickering light of a couple of hurricane lanterns.

If the engine did not cut out over the Carpathians, if their contact across the border lit the flares, then they were in with a chance. But if the engine should fail, if the landing strip at Rózsafa remained unlit, then, either way, they were done for.

And one thing more.

Pray God, they were in time.

 **Author's Note:**

In England, a vest is an undershirt; unlike in the United States where the word means a waistcoat.

In the 1920s, power cuts were very common in Cairo.

All the incidents Danny relates actually happened. As to what were their causes ...

Moryah - an Irish word, the spelling varies, used to express disbelief.

Not coddin, likewise Irish meaning that Danny is telling the truth - at least as he sees it.

Amn't - Irish for "am not".

 _Boy's Own_ and _Girl's Own_ \- children's magazines and annuals of the period. Their content included fiction and non-fiction stories, adventures, as well as How-to articles, and covered activities like those undertaken in the Boy Scouts and Girl Guides.

Plastilin, similar to Plasticine; invented in Germany in 1880.

Béla Kun (1886-1938) _de facto_ leader of the short lived Hungarian Soviet Republic in 1919.

Lieutenant General Vilmos Rőder (1881-1969). During the Great War he served as Austro Hungarian Chief of Army Staff of Army Corps. Thereafter, 1930-34, he oversaw the reorganisation of the Hungarian Royal Army.

Mihail Moruzov (1887-1940) founder and first head of Roumania's domestic espionage agency.

Developed in Germany at the end of the Great War, the Junkers F13 was the first all-metal aircraft; an advanced cantilever monoplane it had enclosed accommodation for four passengers.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty One

For God And Kaiser!

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

While their exact whereabouts remained something of a mystery, the news that both Conrad and his chum Salvatore were not under arrest as had been believed, came as a complete and welcome surprise to those waiting anxiously for news at Rosenberg.

"So, are you saying that everything which Goldstein told you earlier was untrue?"

"No, by no means. Both he and his friends in the Jüdische Selbswehr - for whom I have the greatest respect - are far too well informed for that to be so".

"Yes, of course". Edith nodded.

"Who?" Sybil asked, clearly mystified.

"It's a ... secret organisation; set up here in Austria by the Jewish community, to protect their own. Regrettably, in the present circumstances, they have to. Put simply, it's a matter of self preservation. Its members keep their ears to the ground and, as a result, they hear all sorts of things ... which others do not".

"I see".

Friedrich turned to Edith.

"Darling, what Goldstein told me before, was reported to him by his Roumanian contacts in good faith; were the facts as they believed them to be at the time. In any case, with this sort of thing, I doubt the whole truth of it will ever become known. That I suspect lies, if anywhere, not in facts, but in dishonesty, distortion, and equivocation. As Lenin himself is reported to have said, "a lie told often enough becomes the truth". All this aside, what really matters is that tonight, thanks to his contacts there in Bucharest, Goldstein was able to tell me that a short while ago Wyss and Salvatore took off from Roumanian soil, heading westwards, for an unknown destination".

" _Heading westwards_? Then ... that must mean ... they're bound for the landing strip at Rózsafa! Oh, thank God!" Edith smiled excitedly at Sybil. "Darling, they'll be fine! All of them! You'll see".

"I don't think we can assume that they ..."  
"Where else would they be heading?"

Friedrich nodded.

"Very well then. If they are, so be it. But ..."  
"But what?"

"Goldstein also told me - and he has this on equally good authority - that there have been reports of Hungarian troop movements in and around Szentes. And a much smaller force seen in the vicinity of both Erdőtelek and Rózsafa. Each equipped with field artillery".

"Oh my God! Isn't there anything we can do?"

Friedrich shook his head.

"As before, all we can do is to wait. Pray God that Wyss and Salvatore reach Rózsafa, before the Hungarian army does. If they ... What the devil was that?"

* * *

 **Somewhere northwest of** **Rózsafa, Hungary, earlier that same day.**

Sometime after Tibor had gone, not long after the other officers had dispersed, in their case to attend to the duties assigned to them in the forthcoming engagement, General Rőder requested that the Regent's representative, should join him in his quarters.

A short while later, the man in question arrived. At which point the general looked up from the letter he had been reading, duly returned the smartly proferred salute, indicated that the other should take the chair opposite him. Quite why Horthy's man should be a German officer, Rőder couldn't begin to imagine. Thank God he himself was a soldier and not a politician.

"I will come straight to the point, Sturmhauptführer. This letter comes directly from His Serene Highness. It informs me that you are acquainted with certain ... issues of ... how shall I put it ... a delicate nature".

The other nodded.

"Indeed".

"That being so, we need not waste time rehearsing what is already known to each of us. All that remains is for you to acquaint me as to how the matters referred to herein are to be resolved ... satisfactorily. In that regard, Captain Csáky, what is to happen to him?"

"But of course. As to Csáky, with his true loyalties unmasked, he will die, most tragically, in the closing stages of the assault on the kastély at Rózsafa. A vainglorious end to an otherwise entirely undistinguished military career. Although, infinitely preferable to being hanged for treason, like a common criminal, wouldn't you say? Thereafter given a suitably impressive, public, military funeral, in Budapest, naturally".

"Naturally. So naturally that somehow I managed to overlook it," observed Rőder drily.  
"I take it that you do not object?"

Rőder permitted himself the briefest of smiles.

"Object? Why the hell should I? First and foremost, I am a soldier. Treason always has a stench about it. But, if I understand you correctly, in essence, a grateful Fatherland will be seen to pay homage to a loyal son, saluting a brave soldier, who died heroically in the defence of his country".

Fergal smiled thinly.

"Herr general, I could not have put it better myself. Whereas, in reality, it will serve to demonstrate to one and all, that here in the Kingdom of Hungary His Serene Highness is secure in his position as Regent. At least until the authorities in Berlin decide otherwise".

"If I did object, what then?"  
Fergal shook his head.

"I fear that would be most unwise".

Rőder nodded.

"Very well. And the earl and countess of Grantham? What is to be done with them?"

"Ah, yes, the Granthams. With suitably worded expressions of infinite regret and so forth being duly tendered by the Regent to Viscount Chilston, and I have no doubt, then conveyed personally by him to the British government, it will be found that the earl and countess of Grantham perished in the evacuation of prisoners to Budapest. At least, officially".

"And unofficially?"  
"A bullet in the back of the head is just as lethal no matter when, where, and by whom it is fired".

"I see".

"I'm glad you do. As a member of the British aristocracy, if only as a result of an advantageous marriage, along with his involvement with the League, the untimely demise of the earl of Grantham and his wife will serve as a warning. Dissuade others from meddling in Hungary's affairs".

Again Rőder nodded.

"And Branson úr? Given his position as a newspaper editor, he could prove troublesome".

"He could. But he won't".

"You have something equally in mind for him too?"

Fergal nodded.

"Suffice it to say, no-one will ever learn what became of him".

* * *

 **Matthew and Mary's bedroom, Rózsafa, Hungary, that same afternoon.**

Later that same afternoon, playing to perfection the part of the concerned hostess, Eva came to enquire, ostensibly, how Mary was feeling; whether she had recovered sufficiently for Manfred to do as he had promised her he would and show her around the stables. Given the fact that they would be leaving here the day after tomorrow, it would be a very great shame to have come all this way, for Mary not to see the Mezőhegyes English full bloods for which Rózsafa was justly famous; of which Eva's own family, and now Manfred, were both inordinately proud.

And, if Mary felt up to it, on a suitable mount, escorted by Manfred, perhaps, she might care to take a short ride before dinner; in anticipation of which Eva had brought with her some riding clothes which, while apologising profusely that they had undoubtedly seen better days, she hoped might suit.

"How kind!" Mary smiled. Eyed with interest the clothes, which Eva laid out before her on the bed.

Along with the top hat and short veil, the cut of the riding habit was decidedly old-fashioned, dating, thought Mary, from before the Great War, when most women still rode side saddle. While the whole ensemble smelt strongly of moth balls, they would do well enough for an afternoon's hack.

Given that Matthew had impressed upon her the importance that they must not arouse the slightest suspicion in their host or hostess, Mary professed herself to be feeling a great deal better. Without the slightest trace of sarcasm, now said that a dose of fresh air was just what she needed. Having thanked Eva for the loan of the riding habit, said that if Manfred was agreeable, once she had changed, she would join him in the hall in half an hour or so.

At this Eva smiled sweetly; said that she would let Manfred know. Added, apparently in all innocence, that journeys by train were often so very tiring; even short ones, such as that undertaken recently by Unity and her brother, as a result of which darling Unity herself was quite done in. Having taken a strong sedative, was presently resting in her room.

A moment later, having been assured by Mary that she did not need the services of a lady's maid to help her change, bestowing yet another sweet smile, Eva was gone.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933, that night.**

Above the keening of the wind and the patter of the rain, from somewhere came the sound of breaking glass, followed almost instantaneously by a piercing scream which echoed throughout the house and immediately sent the three adults in the Drawing Room hurrying into the hall.

"I think it came from upstairs," said Edith.

"Ma!"

"Saiorse!"

The three adults looked up, aghast to see Saiorse, her face flecked with blood, in tears, barefoot, in her nightdress and dressing gown, appear on the landing overlooking the hall.

Followed closely by Edith, Sybil was up the stairs in a trice, and kneeling by her daughter's side.

"Darling, what on earth happened?"

"Oh, Ma!" wailed Saiorse. "It was horrible! At the bedroom window. It was a ..."

Seeing that Saiorse's injuries were thankfully not serious, that she was far more shocked than hurt, Sybil became practical. Placing a comforting arm about her daughter's shoulders, quietly and calmly, she suggested, in order for Saiorse's cuts to be cleaned and dressed, that they should go along to the bathroom.

"Darling, come with me. And you can tell me all about what happened. Edith, darling, would you be a dear? Go and look in on the others? Unless Nanny Bridges ..."  
"Yes, of course".

* * *

 **Somewhere high over the Carpathians later that same night.**

Here in the mountains, having been buffeted relentlessly by strong wings, Conrad had already brought the F13 as low as he dared. Any lower and there was every chance both he and Salvatore would find themselves communing with the saints.

Then, the unthinkable happened.

The engine first coughed, spluttered, and died.

* * *

 **Matthew and Mary's bedroom, Rózsafa, Hungary, afternoon, that same day.**

"Do you think she knows anything about ..." Mary nodded in the direction of Tom's bedroom.

"I don't doubt it. A consummate performance that. Much like your own, darling, which, if I may say so, was very adroitly done!"

"You may!" Mary simpered.

Matthew laughed.

"Worthy of Peggy Ashcroft at the Old Vic, even if I do say so myself!"

Mary smiled.

"Darling, I'm a Crawley. Twice over. Like dear old Granny, a woman of many parts. After all, if I could help move a decidedly deceased Turkish diplomat out my bed, carry him halfway across the abbey, and deposit his body back in his own room, dealing with the likes of Eva is child's play!"

"Good Lord! Dear old Pamuk! Late of Constantinople and the Orient. Why, I'd quite forgotten about him!" Matthew let out another laugh, loud enough to have been heard in distant Budapest.

"Matthew, really!"

"I'm sorry darling".

"He wasn't old at the time," retorted Mary quietly.

"No, of course not".

Mary eyed her husband cautiously; wondered if his cheerful banter presaged some pithy remark, but in that her fears proved to be groundless. Sensing her discomfort, Matthew smiled again.

"Darling, as I told you, on the night I proposed, you've lived your life, and I've lived mine. What's past is past. Leave it there! There's nothing to forgive. Now, while you're out riding, I need to talk with Tom".

"About what?"

"I'll tell you later. Nothing to worry about. Something, I heard earlier. Here, let me help you undress".

"Darling, I'm perfectly capable of ..." Mary caught the glint of eager anticipation in her husband's impossibly blue eyes. "Darling, I'm supposed to be going riding ..."

"You said in half an hour. Or thereabouts. Time enough!" Matthew whispered huskily.

"Honestly, Matthew! Oh, very well, have it your own way!"

"Darling, in case you hadn't noticed, in matters such as this, I usually do!"

He didn't need to be told twice; capturing her mouth with his own, Matthew began unbuttoning her blouse.

* * *

 **Max's bedroom, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, night, that same day.**

All three boys heard the sound of breaking glass, but not the scream that followed.

"Jaysus! Feckin' hell!"

"That's torn it!"

"What's torn?" asked Max not understanding.

"The cricket ball ... it hit the feckin' window!" Danny explained hurriedly.

Watched by Max, helped by Rob, Danny hastily wound in the line with the attached clay head of Anubis, before pulling down hard on the sash, closing the window, and barring the shutters.

* * *

The fishing rod - somehow it would have to be returned unseen to its rightful place downstairs by the front door - together with Anubis's head, were thrust quickly and ignominiously into the gap between the wardrobe and the wall; Max dived into bed, pulling the covers over his head; Rob switched out the electric light; he and Danny both beating a hasty retreat back down the passage and into their own bedrooms.

* * *

 **Stableblock, Rózsafa, Hungary, afternoon, that same day.**

Here at Rózsafa, the stables which, not unsurprisingly, were extensive, ranged round a quadrangle, and lay a short distance from the house. They were, explained Manfred, as he and Mary now came within sight of them, a testimonial wrought in both brick and stone to a more leisured age, built at a time when the estate was over three times the size it was now, money was plentiful, and the Old Man was still on the throne.

"The Old Man?"

Manfred smiled.

"That's how many of us referred to him. In fact, we still do. I mean, of course, His Imperial and Royal Apostolic Majesty The Emperor of Austria, Apostolic King of Hungary, Franz Joseph, who ruled over the empire from 1848 until his death, aged eighty six, in 1916; scarce two years before the end. I sometimes find myself thinking that it was only the Old Man's sheer force of will that held it all together. I'm sorry, I must be boring you".

"No, not at all".

Manfred smiled.

"However kind, a white lie is still a lie. Nonetheless, I thank you for it. Taking you at your word, by the law of succession, the Old Man's great great nephew, Crown Prince Otto, now in exile in Belgium, is the rightful king of Hungary. There's a photograph of him in the hall. I saw Tom looking at it earlier".

Mary nodded. While sworn to secrecy, she knew something of this from Matthew; that the plot afoot hereabouts intended ousting the Regent, Admiral Horthy, and placing the young Crown Prince on the vacant throne.

* * *

Manfred went on to explain that, with circumstances no longer what they had once been, while there were still Mezőhegyes English full bloods here at Rózsafa, these days the stud was very much reduced and most of the stalls stood empty.

The rot had set in during the war, when many of the horses had been requisitioned as remounts to replace casualties among those of the Landsturm Hussars, which formed part of the cavalry of Hungarian Honved. Not one of the requisitioned horses had ever returned. After the end of the war, with two thirds of the estate lost to Roumania, money short, other horses had had to be sold, just to keep the handful that yet remained. Quite what Eva's father, or for that matter her two brothers, Jozsi and Nikolasz, would have made of it all, God only knew. Perhaps it was just as well none of them had lived to see the collapse of the empire and what befell the Kingdom of Hungary in the bitter aftermath of defeat.

Mary nodded sympathetically; she had heard very much the same tale of woe back in Budapest ... from Tibor.

* * *

"And this is your mount. His name is Patrik. From the Greek Patrikios. He answers to both. The name means _of noble descent_. Rather appropriate since he is descended, directly, from the Austrian Imperial and Hungarian Royal Apostolic Stud at Mezőhegyes, founded by no less a personage than Emperor Joseph II himself. In the winter of the second year of the war, Eva had his future sire and dam sent away to one of the outlying farms, long before the requisition squad came calling, in order that the Honved wouldn't get its hands on them. Jozsi and Nikolasz were in full agreement with what Eva had done; even if it was decidedly unpatriotic! By then, of course, with the resources of the estate already severely depleted by the constant demands being made upon it by the Imperial government for men, for grain, and for cattle, and with little chance of ever being recompensed ... " Manfred shrugged. "Then came the terrible news about Eva's brothers. Both killed and within a month or so of each other. After that nothing seemed to matter. But, no more of that. What's past is past. Cannot be undone. What do you think? A real beauty, isn't he?"

For a moment, Mary was too overcome for words.

First by a sudden, totally unexpected rush of sympathy for what Eva herself had suffered. Remembered how she herself had felt when Matthew had been posted missing, ever before they had received the dreadful news that he had been wounded. Had seen, too, at close quarters, the awfulness of the pain wrought upon other families in the county who, unlike the Crawleys had lost fathers, sons, brothers, and cousins in the four long years of the Great War. Seeing the aching void such losses always left, Mary was eternally grateful that she had only sisters. Even if one of them was Edith.

And then, rendered equally speechless, by the sight of horse Manfred now presented to her. Possessed of a long neck, wide eyes, large nostrils, excellent balance, strong loin, and straight legs, together with the quality of his muscling, standing at just over sixteen hands high, the pure white, full blood stallion was truly magnificent. Entranced, Mary heard but vaguely some of what her host was now saying.

"... and most recently in the Hungarian Triple at Kincsem, back in '31".

Kincsem. Mary knew of it of course; the racecourse in Budapest.

She smiled.

"Why, Manfred, he's ... absolutely magnificent. And his name again?"

"Patrik. From the Greek Patrikios. Now, if you're quite ready?"

"Yes, of course".

"Then, shall we?"

Manfred smiled; helped Mary up into the saddle.

* * *

 **Tom's bedroom,** **Rózsafa, the same time.**

"Tom!" called Matthew in a hushed whisper, at the same time rapping hurriedly on his brother-in-law's bedroom door. Was relieved to hear the sound of the key being turned in the lock. Evidently Tom must have taken his warning to heart.

A moment later and the door swung open, to reveal a Tom wearing considerably more than he had been the last time Matthew had seen him; standing out in the corridor wearing only a towel while the kimono clad figure of Unity Mitford beat a hasty retreat in the opposite direction.

"What is it, for sure?"

" **This** came for me, earlier this afternoon".

* * *

 **Rózsafa Estate, shortly thereafter.**

As Mary and Manfred trotted away from the stables, on the surface everything seemed normal; belying what Mary herself knew was taking place hereabouts. Like the sudden calm before the coming of a summer storm.

Somewhere, close at hand, doves cooed in a cot, a flight of fantail pigeons fluttered softly in a flurry of snowy white plumage, and a pair of storks with long pointed beaks and scarlet legs nested gently on the nearby roof of a moss covered barn. In the late afternoon heat, behind closed shutters, the kastély slumbered on; its occupants whiling away what still remained of the afternoon: resting in their bedrooms, dozing in wicker seats out on the broad verandah, slumbering in canvas deckchairs beneath the lilac trees. Save that was for the handful of house guests who had chosen to indulge themselves in an impromptu, desultory tennis match, or a far more gentle game of croquet; one and all partaking of a seemingly never ending supply of cooling drinks, served to them by a liveried ensemble of footmen.

* * *

Halfway down the long drive they met a creaking wagon, laden with ripe apricots, heading back to the kastély while, over beyond the magnolia trees, among the sunflowers, could be glimpsed large wooden vats in which, explained Manfred, the harvested fruits were being boiled, the resulting juice distilled down into Pálinka, apricot brandy, the fermentation of which filled the air with yet another heady, intoxicating scent.

At the end of the drive they turned right out of the gates and, for a short distance, trotted back along the road which had brought them to Rózsafa. Not long after, in the cool shade of poplar and willow, they crossed over a small stone bridge beside which a group of young soldiers, to Mary's eyes some of them looked to be little more than boys, were digging a series of trenches. As they passed by, the corporal in charge of the detachment turned and saluted smartly.

Manfred drew rein. A short conversation ensued, presumably regarding the work being undertaken.

"Für gott und kaiser!" The corporal saluted again.

Manfred nodded. Moments later, Mary and he were once more on their way.

* * *

Manfred clearly felt some explanation to be necessary.

"Our local militia. I'm glad to see they're being put to good use. The watercourse back there may look like a stream but don't let that fool you. It's a tributary of the Tisza and often floods. What those boys are doing will help. Over there beyond that belt of trees is our airstrip". He pointed with his riding crop.

"Airstrip?"

"But of course! Darling, this **is** 1933! Several of the estates hereabouts have them. It's a much quicker way of reaching Budapest than taking the train! Don't you have one at Downton?"  
"No, we don't".

"You do surprise me. I'd have thought Matthew might have taken up flying".

"Thankfully, he hasn't!" Mary grimaced. Remembered how enthusiastic both Matthew and Tom had been about the craze of wing walking. Now proceeded to tell Manfred something of Matthew's penchant for speed. Ended by adding that she had quite enough trouble keeping him in one piece on the ground without Matthew taking to the air. "So, please don't go suggesting to him that he does!" Manfred laughed. Promised his lips would remain sealed.

"That being so, am I to presume that you yourself have never flown?"  
"No, never. I leave that sort of thing to Edith". Manfred laughed again. Said that he heard a great deal about her aeronautical exploits out in the Near East.

"You should try it. If you were staying longer but then ..." Manfred broke off what he was saying. When, but a moment or two later, he resumed chatting, it was to tell Mary that they were bound for a small church, dedicated to Szent Katalin - St. Catherine - Manfred kindly translated, famous hereabouts for its richly gilded iconostasis which had been given to the church three centuries ago by some of Eva's ancestors; adding that most of the family still held to the Catholic faith of their forefathers.

"Not that we have any truck with it; what with Eva and I having lived together, openly that is, after Julia ran off with her Russian count, and then married in a civil ceremony in Nice. But you know about that already, don't you?"

Mary nodded.

It seemed that here in Hungary such things were not hidden under the proverbial bushel, as would most certainly have been the case in England, where, in certain circles, rumours were circulating that no less a personage than the Prince of Wales was consorting with an already divorced, married American woman.

* * *

Trotting companionably along the white ribbon of the road, a short while later, Manfred indicated ahead two motors, coming towards them, trailing in their wake a cloud of dust.

"Ah ha! If I'm not much mistaken, the rest of our guests. I think Eva told you Tibor had gone to help fetch them, from Erdőtelek?"  
"Yes. Yes, she did".

A few minutes later, the two motors reached them, Mary not unduly surprised to see that one of them was being driven by Tibor. On catching sight of Mary, he smiled. Out of uniform, in mufty, he looked much younger, no older than the some of the young soldiers she had seen digging trenches down by the bridge. There was, of course, a very great deal she wanted to say to him, but now was hardly the time, so their conversation, which was short, was confined to the usual brief, meaningless pleasantries which one exchanges in these sort of situations.

Along that was, with introductions being made of the others travelling in the two motors. Of course, the names themselves meant nothing to Mary; save that was for one. That of the count and countess von Waldstein Frigyes de Nagybaresa.

"What a bloody mouthful!" The count himself smiled broadly at Mary. "My wife, Annamaria. And I am Fülöp, Pips for short There! Much better, don't you think? And this fine fellow here is Micky, our youngest son, aged fifteen, home for the holidays from his school in Geneva, and who I believe, is already known to your husband". Pips indicated the young boy sitting between his wife and himself.

For Mary, the penny now dropped with her recalling Matthew having mentioned he had attended a musical soirée in Geneva. Not that such an event was really Matthew's cup of tea. Said he had spent most of it sitting outside talking. At the time, Mary had assumed he had been accompanied there by the comtesse de Roquebrune, until that was, Matthew explained, to Mary's great surprise, that his companion for much of the evening had been the young nephew of his host and hostess; a boy but a couple of years older than their own son Robert. A most personable lad, called Micky. Presumably, this was he.

Micky grinned.

"Hello! This is Dévaj". The boy patted the head of a golden retriever seated beside him on the back seat of the second of the motors. The dog reminded Mary so much of Isis and therefore also, painfully so, of darling Papa who had died two years ago, back in the summer of 1931.

All the same, Micky was so engaging, that Mary found herself smiling back at him.

"Well, do enjoy the rest of your afternoon. No doubt we'll see both of you later, back at the house". Pips smiled; promptly tapped Tibor on the shoulder.

"Now, young man, off we go".

Tibor turned; grinned over his shoulder.

"Yes, uncle!"

"Your **uncle**?" Mary could not conceal her astonishment.

Tibor nodded.

"Yes, at least of sorts. Actually, a second cousin of my mother's. We're all related somehow, even if distantly".

With that the two motors moved off, at a sedate pace, so as to avoid frightening the horses.

* * *

"Of course before that damned treaty, the estate ran for miles, in that direction. The cross you can see over there in the distance marks the present border and beyond it lie the lands lost to Roumania".

Mary nodded. It was the same refrain she had heard from Tibor. Here in the Kingdom of Hungary, since the Treaty of Trianon, shrunken to but a quarter of its erstwhile size, the loss of Transylvania to Roumania was seen as a great injustice; was a source of growing anger and resentment.

"What's that? Over there". Mary pointed to where, cresting a slight rise in the otherwise monotonous flatness of the vast plain, a huddle of tiled buildings clustered around a tall brick chimney.

Manfred was dismissive; indeed, decidedly so.

"That? Oh, nothing that need concern us. If you really want to know, in Eva's father's time, long before that even, it was the estate's brick works".

Memory resurrected itself. Mary recalling that on one of her slow ambles around the estate at Downton with Matthew - he was not a good rider, much preferring to be seated behind the wheel of a motor and preferably a fast one - he had pointed out what he said was the site of the estate's brickworks; by then nothing more than a tumble of walls in a nettle grown dell.

"We had one at Downton". Mary turned her horse aside; made to set off along the track leading towards the brick works but before she could do so, Manfred forestalled her.

"No, not that way. No-one ever goes there. Not now".

"Oh?"

"Yes. The buildings are very much decayed. Unsafe. I really should do something about having them demolished. No doubt the peasantry would make very good use of anything salvageable. That apart, in wet weather, the ground over there becomes quite impassable. What with all the recent rain ..." Manfred shook his head; indicated they should take the other fork, leading towards a small whitewashed church, crowned by an onion domed spire, of which he had spoken earlier when they had set out nearly an hour since.

However, they were destined never to reach it because, before they had gone very much further, ahead of them in the distance a dark speck arose which swiftly resolved itself into a single rider, galloping towards them at great speed.

* * *

The rider drew level with them, with some difficulty reining in his lathering, sweating horse in a flurry of hooves and splattered mud. A dark haired young man, in military uniform, reminding Mary instantly of Tibor, and who, while still in the saddle touched the brim of his cap to her before saluting Manfred.

"Ecellenciás uram!"

Manfred nodded; inclined his head. Evidently the unexpected arrival was known to him.

"Mi az?

"Sok katona!"

"Hol?

Shading his eyes, the young man turned in the saddle; articulated expansively towards the distant horizon.

"Erdőtelek felé".

For all that Mary spoke no Hungarian, one word sounded familiar. Erdő ... Wasn't that where Eva had said Tibor had gone? From where he had been returning when they had met him and the others on the road?

"Biztos vagy benne?"

The young man nodded vigorously.

Whatever it was he had just been told, Manfred was clearly worried; it showed in his face.

A further hurried exchange of words now followed, all of which was just as unintelligible to Mary, at the end of which the other again saluted Manfred.

"Für gott und kaiser!"

The very same words which had been said to Manfred down at the bridge.

Then, swiftly the young man turned his horse and, with hooves flying, rode off at a thundering pace whence he had just come.

* * *

For his part, Manfred made no attempt to move; evidently lost in thought, he simply sat his horse. A moment later and he seemed to realise his whereabouts.

"Forgive me. Mary, I don't wish to seem discourteous, but I very much regret that I must cut short our little excursion. Something has arisen ... which requires my urgent attention".

"Oh?"

"Yes, I need not trouble you further with the details but I fear I must return immediately to the house".

Mary chose to be arch; more out of sheer devilment than for any other reason.

"Do I understand you correctly ... that I no longer have the honour of your escort?"

There was only one answer to that; at least from a gentleman. But, Manfred did not make it. Instead, he wheeled his horse quickly about.

"Will you be all right?"  
"All right?" echoed Mary.

"What I mean is, if I leave you here?"

Mary's eyes narrowed; this really was quite intolerable.

"Perfectly!" she said coldly.

"You're quite sure? When I reach the house, I will give orders to Sebastyén to ride out immediately and meet you on the way".  
"Thank you, but there's really no need to do that. I shall be quite all right. As you said, Rózsafa lies somewhere over there". Mary pointed back down the grass grown track.

Manfred nodded.

"Yes. Follow the track along which we rode. After about a hour's ride, it will bring you to the road, and the drive gates. Look, I'm really very sorry about this, but the matter simply will not wait".

A moment later and Manfred was galloping away back down the track.

* * *

 **Later, somewhere west of Rózsafa.**

Away to her right, Mary caught sight once more of the crumbling chimney and buildings of the old brick works. To the eye of an experienced horsewoman like herself, the track leading that way across the plain looked perfectly dry. Certainly there was no immediate sign of the bogginess of which Manfred had spoken. That decided it. After all, if at any point the way proved impassable, then she would turn back.

High above her Mary saw a succession of white clouds chasing each other across a brilliant blue sky. Save for a handful of distant figures, moving rhythmically among the haycocks and sheaves, scything the very last of the wheat, she saw no-one. Not that she minded. Not in the slightest. Out for a leisurely afternoon ride, mounted on Patrik, Mary was quite content with her own company. Was even minded, at least now, to forgive Manfred his gross discourtesy in leaving her to her own devices; reasoning that the matter, whatever it was, must indeed have been pressing for him to have reacted the way he had. Wondered, too, how Matthew was faring in his discussions with darling Tom. Hoped he had been spared any further trouble with Unity Mitford. Given what Eva had said, about the little minx being indisposed, it seemed unlikely but one never knew. Still, if the need arose, Tom had Matthew there to protect him!

Thinking of Matthew, Mary recalled what had happened earlier; not their quarrel but what had followed hard upon it. At that, she smiled, reflecting that the gentle, ambling pace of the ride, so unlike the frenzied passion of their lovemaking, would have suited Matthew down to the ground. When he was on horseback anything more than a light canter and he became extremely nervous which, for someone who had survived the horrors of the Western Front, seemed patently ridiculous. But there it was. The slow pace also seemed to please Patrik. Indeed, it was hard to believe that he was the same horse that had won so many glittering prizes; most recently, as Manfred had told her, on the racecourse at Kincsem.

* * *

From the rutted, churned state of the ground, along with the foot and hoof prints etched in the damp soil, it had become obvious to Mary that the track leading to the old brick works had seen considerable usage, both by men, and by horses. As well as by some kind of heavy wheeled vehicles; the passage of which had left their own mark in the form of deep ruts. Given that Manfred had told her that the buildings, which belonged to the estate, were derelict, this seemed singularly odd. Indeed, he had taken pains to impress upon her that no-one ever came here. Yet, clearly, someone had. And recently. But why? And for what purpose?

About twenty minutes later, Mary drew rein where the track ended, at the abandoned brick works. There was no doubting their derelict state; the buildings were in part ruinous, the tall chimney crumbling, its upper courses fallen away, the roofs sagging, missing tiles, the bare timbers bleached by years of exposure to the weather, and there were numerous broken windows, most of which had been boarded up. And recently; the wood was new, still pale, not yet weathered. All the same, the buildings were plainly deserted.

Or, were they?

* * *

For a few minutes, Mary sat her horse. Then, having at last made up her mind, stowing her riding crop, she slipped lithely down out of the saddle and dismounted. Catching up the hem of the long skirt of her riding habit and draping it over her arm, she strode purposefully forward, towards a pair of high wooden gates which appeared to be the only entrance.

* * *

It came as no surprise to Mary to find the gates were shut. Not only that but also padlocked; though why on earth anyone should have thought that to have been necessary, way out here, seemed incomprehensible. Miles from anywhere, lost in the great, empty, vastness of the plain, surely the very remoteness of the place was more than sufficient to safeguard it against the unwarranted attentions of any would be intruders?

While Mary's knowledge of crime was strictly limited to having helped carry Pamuk's body halfway across the abbey - which could be forgiven on the grounds that what had been done that night had been undertaken in order to safeguard the good name of the family - who on earth would want to break into a derelict brick works? As dear old Granny might have said, it defied all logic.

With the place all locked up, that rather seemed to settle things; ruled out Mary undertaking any further investigation. Irritated, unaccountably so, with no-one about to see her do so, she kicked at the gates with the toe of one of her boots, the resulting noise seeming to reverberate throughout the empty buildings. And then, much to her surprise, something unexpected happened.

The large padlock fell from the hasp, landing with a dull thud in the soft earth at her feet.

Whoever had closed and secured the gates had been singularly careless. Mary pushed at them which, despite the lightness of her touch, to her surprise, swung open noiselessly, on hinges that clearly were very well oiled.

Her curiosity undeniably piqued, leading her horse gently forward, Mary walked on through the gateway.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, night, that same day.**

Equally thankful that Saiorse had come to no real harm, as he prepared to retire for the night, even if, given all the circumstances, he reasoned sleep might well be in short supply, Friedrich remembered that he had left his glasses in his study. Having entered the room in search of them, Friedrich switched on the light, before crossing over to his desk. Then, before picking up his glasses, Friedrich did as Saiorse had done a short while earlier, he unbolted the shutters.

Outside, the rain had long since ceased. Friedrich thrust up the sash; resting his elbows on the window cill, leaned forward into the darkness, savouring the damp scent of the cool night air.

* * *

On the hillside overlooking the rear of the house, hidden in the wet bracken, with his quarry now clearly in the cross hairs of the telescopic sights of the high powered Merkel hunting rifle, the man squeezed gently on the trigger.

Muffled by a silencer, there came the sound of a single shot.

* * *

 **Somewhere west of Rózsafa, earlier that day.**

The derelict buildings ranged round a grass grown, cobbled courtyard; in the centre of which, and to her surprise, Mary saw two ...

What were they?

Large guns on wheels certainly, along with their limbers.

She had seen something similar once before, over at Langthorpe Hall, during the war, not long after the _Lusitania_ had been sunk by the Germans off the coast of Ireland. The army had put on an artillery display to demonstrate the accuracy of their gunnery, by blowing to pieces the old brick water tower which, until then, had stood atop Conduit Hill. She had mentioned the event in one of her letters to Matthew who, in his reply had described the whole thing as a ridiculous piece of theatrical nonsense.

 **Howitzers**.

Yes, that was what the guns had been called.

And the air hereabouts smelt just the same as it had done on that long gone day at Langthorpe back in the hot summer of 1915. When she had made mention of that too, Matthew had said it was probably ... Cordite, that was it. From the exploding shells. And here in the courtyard, beside the two howitzers, stood a clutch of large, brass cased artillery shells.

 _Wherever that shell came from, it wasn't from over the border but from somewhere much closer at hand._

* * *

While Mary was still standing beside the howitzers, letting Patrik crop the grass, to her dismay, she heard the sound of an approaching motor. Then voices too. Quickly she made to remount. Just as she did so, a battered truck, in the rear of which there was seated a contingent of soldiers, lumbered through the open gateway before pulling to a stop in the yard.

"Mi a neve?" a man's voice called harshly.

Turning her head, Mary now saw, much closer at hand, two other soldiers who, from the direction from whence they had appeared, must already have been here when she herself had arrived. Doubtless had been watching her every move. Would have seen her looking at the artillery pieces and their limbers. A moment later and the two soldiers came to a stand in front of her.

"Mi a neve?"

"I don't understand you". Mary shook her head. Bloody foreigners!

"Mi a neve? Honnan származol?"

The soldier repeated himself again, now for the third time of asking, more insistently; reached forward and grasped hold of the horse's bridle.

Mary jerked hard on the reins.

"Let go of my bridle, damn' you!"

For a moment the soldier stared blankly at Mary; then guffawed, revealing a set of dirty, heavily nicotine-stained teeth. Said something equally unintelligible to his companion who likewise sniggered; laid his hand on Mary's skirt, sliding his fingers upwards, his intentions only all too clear. At this, Mary had had enough. Laid about her hard with her riding crop. Her assault, being both sudden and unexpected, took the two soldiers completely by surprise. Yelping with pain, the one holding the bridle loosed his grip, like his compatriot seeking to try and shield himself with bare hands from the incessant rain of stinging blows.

This gave Mary the chance she needed, digging her heels hard against the flanks of Patrik. Taken equally unawares, nostrils flaring, the stallion reared, heavy shod hooves flailing, drawing fiery sparks from the cobbles. Very wisely the two men beat a hasty retreat. A blow from one of the hooves would crack a man's skull as easily as if it were an egg. At the same time the two yelled something incomprehensible to their fellows across the yard who were in the act of jumping down from the truck.

All uncomprehending, swiftly regaining control of her rearing mount, albeit losing her hat in the process, Mary quickly turned the stallion, then road hell for leather for the gates. Saw, to her horror, that several of the newly arrived soldiers were hurriedly rolling an old wooden cart across the open gateway, thus barring her flight.

Saw, equally, as they turned to face her, as she rode full tilt at them, the look of sheer incredulity etched upon their faces.

Surely not.

She wouldn't.

No.

Never.

Would she?

Mary dug her heels harder against the horse's already bloodied flanks.

For the stallion, memory stirred.

 _The roar of the crowd grew to fever pitch_.

Laying back his ears, Patrik raced forwards.

 **Author's Note:**

Dame Edith Margaret Emily Ashcroft, DBE (1907-1991) better known as Peggy Ashcroft, was an English actress whose career spanned more than sixty years. At the time of the story she was drawing excellent reviews playing five of Shakespeare's heroines at the Old Vic Theatre south of the River Thames, close to Waterloo station.

Hungarian Triple made up of three races: Nemzeti dij (Hungarian 2000 Guineas) Magyar Derby (Hungarian Derby) and Magyar St. Leger (Hungarian St. Leger).

Für Gott und kaiser! For God and Kaiser! - the battle cry of the Austro-Hungarian army.

An iconostasis is a wall of icons and religious paintings, separating the nave from the sanctuary in a church.

 _an already divorced, married American woman_ \- Wallis Simpson - whom the Prince of Wales had first met in 1931.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty Two

For A Cause Already Lost

 **Tom's Bedroom, Rózsafa, Hungary, summer 1933.**

"A telegram?" Tom asked, with evident surprise.

Matthew smiled. Nodded. Held out the form.

"How very observant of you! Yes, indeed. Here, see what you make of this".

 **BUDAPEST GAMBIT IN TWO SZENTES. CHECKMATE IN THREE** **ROZSAFA** **. MOST STRONGLY ADVISE TACTICAL WITHDRAWAL**

Tom looked up. By his puzzled expression, he was clearly baffled.

"I don't understand. What on earth does it mean? Who sent it?"

Matthew smiled.  
"You're obviously not a player of chess".

"Of sorts". Tom smiled, shamefaced, then shook his head. "No, not really".

Matthew grinned.

"You do surprise me. I would rather have thought chess to have been right up your street!"  
"Oh? How so?"  
"Well, with the object of the game being the de-throning of a king, at least in a manner of speaking!" Matthew laughed. "Let alone, of course, all those poor, down-trodden pawns - for which read the working class - foot slogging their way across the board, only to find that most of them are then sacrificed for the greater good ..."

"Mea culpa!" Tom chuckled. "I much prefer a game of billiards, for sure. However, I have been known to play chess. In fact, before we left for Austria, I'd begun teaching Bobby the rudiments of the game. Do ya know, I once even tried to teach Sybil how to play?"  
"No, I didn't know. _Tried to_? From that, do I infer, unsuccessfully?"

Tom laughed. Nodded his head.

"Grand! Sybil hadn't the patience for it. What about Mary?"  
" **Mary**?" Matthew sounded incredulous; shook his head. "You must be joking! In case you've somehow forgotten, she wants the hierarchy of the existing social order maintained, in its entirety. So, overthrowing a king is hardly her style!"  
Tom chuckled before proceeding to re-read the telegram.

"Well? Any ideas?" Matthew lofted an inquisitive brow.

"Gambit ... in anyone's book is a calculated move. A stratagem, for sure. Checkmate, that's rather more obvious. Then the game is over and your opponent is defeated". Tom handed the telegram back to Matthew who, having neatly refolded the form, now placed it back inside his jacket.

"Exactly".

"Then, as I asked a moment ago, what does it mean? Who sent it?"

"Taking your second question first, as to who sent it, I've a private notion it comes, by the use of a trusted intermediary, from our esteemed ambassador in Budapest, who plays chess; in fact, as it happens, I know Chilston plays it rather well".

Tom nodded.  
"Then, if ya're right, ... hazarding a guess ... the use of an intermediary ... in order to avoid the telegram being traced back to the embassy, for sure?"  
Matthew nodded.

"Quite so. As to what it all means, there's an opening move in chess called the Budapest gambit. What I think we are to infer from this is that the government forces, for which read Budapest, are commencing their attack on the rebels in two days' time. In and around Szentes. If memory serves me right, that's a town, about sixty odd miles, as the crow flies, north west of here. Are anticipating a lightning campaign. One that will be over in at most three days, ending here, at Rózsafa. More to the point, advising that we ourselves should not be here when the Hungarian army comes calling. In other words, have made ourselves scarce!"

"Grand! And just how the feck do we do that? Does the ambassador have any bright suggestions to make on that score?"

Matthew shook his head.  
"To be honest, at the moment, I'm not entirely sure. As for Chilston, don't you remember what he told us?"

"About what?"

"That, if we ran into difficulties down here, we were on our own?"

Tom nodded.

"Yes. For sure. All right for him, eh? Talk about stating the bleedin' obvious! It looks like we've blundered into a feckin' war!"

Matthew nodded.

"Agreed, old chap. And do you know what the worst part in all this is?"

Tom shook his head.  
"The worst part? No, for sure".

"That good men are going to die. On both sides. After all we went through in the Great War. Don't we ever bloody learn?"

Again, Tom shook his head.

"Apparently not. Then again, sometimes, a hard sacrifice must be made for a future that's worth having".

"Do you really believe that?"  
"I did once. After all, I said those same words to Sybil ... when she hadn't still quite made up her mind what to do about my proposal".

"Yes, I remember you telling me".

"To be sure. Have ya told Mary? I mean about the telegram?"  
"No, not yet. But I intend to; the very moment she returns".  
"Returns? From where?"  
"She and Manfred have gone riding".

"Gone riding? At a time like this? Jaysus!" Tom made no attempt to conceal his disbelief. An unbidden image of Sybil and the children flashed before his eyes, their faces ashen, tear stained, numb with shock, on learning that he ...

"Don't worry, all three of us will make it through; as for Mary, and Manfred, they'll be back later this afternoon".

"Then what do we do?"

"In the present circumstances, wait and see how the land lies. Nothing precipitous".

" _Nothing precipitous_ ," echoed Tom.

"That's right. And then perhaps ..."

"Perhaps what?"

"Maybe, just maybe, that _damnable treaty_ , as Manfred would undoubtedly have it, can serve to our advantage".

"How so?"

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

"What, for sure?"

"That the border with Roumania now lies scarce half a dozen miles from here. In a fast car, we could be across it in the twinkling of an eye".

"Then what are we waiting for? Let's see about finding ourselves a motor!"

"Time enough for that. We mustn't arouse suspicion. Wait until Mary returns".

"And while we wait ..." Tom shook his head. There was a time for caution, but surely the moment for that was past.

* * *

 **Somewhere high over the Carpathians, border of the Kingdom of Roumania.**

Without power, the Junkers was rapidly losing height. As Conrad tried desperately to restart the engine, the snow covered peaks of the mountain peaks loomed ever closer.

* * *

 **Entrance Hall, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, that same** **night** **.**

From upstairs, separately, Edith and Sybil heard once more the sound of breaking glass. However, with Sybil attending to Saiorse's cuts, before she had the chance to look in on the other children, it was Edith who came hurrying down the main staircase, to be confronted by the sight of Friedrich staggering out of his study, his face, like that of Saiorse, now flecked with blood.

"Oh, my God! Friedrich, darling, whatever's happened?"

* * *

As Edith helped her husband to a chair beneath the stairs, there came a thunderous knocking on the front door, followed in turn by a repeated ringing of the bell, which in turn brought Feist out into the hall who, despite the furious knocking and the insistent ringing of the bell, came at his usual sedate pace. Not one known for displaying emotion, an admirable trait in a butler, even the elderly Feist was appalled by the sight which now met his eyes: the master seated on one of the ornately carved chairs, his face blood-stained, with the mistress, obviously distressed, kneeling solicitously by his side.

"Sir! Are you all right? What has happened to you?" Feist asked, clearly aghast, and coming to an abrupt stand.

Never one to make a to-do, Friedrich made to wave him impatiently away.

"Don't fuss, man! Go and see who that is, before they wake up the whole house!"

"Yes sir".

Feist nodded; did as he had been instructed and went to answer the door.

"God knows who that can be at this hour! What happened, Friedrich?" Edith asked, dabbing carefully at his face with her handkerchief. Fortunately, as with Saiorse, his injuries, a few superficial cuts to his face, appeared far worse than they were.

"I went ... into the study ... to look for my glasses ... before coming up. I remember ... I unbarred the shutters ... opened the window ..."

"Why? What on earth for? There, that's a lot better. We'll finish this upstairs".

"Thank you. For a breath of air. Then came a shot".

" **A shot**!" Edith was appalled.

"Yes. It must have come from somewhere up on the hill ... behind the house".

"Papa! What's happened to your face?"

Surprised to hear Max's voice, Edith glanced up, to find him standing beside her.

"Max! What are you doing down here? You should be in bed and asleep ..." But before Edith could utter another word, let alone Max begin to answer her, it became obvious that an altercation was taking place at the front door as, from within the small, glazed vestibule, there came the sound of raised voices, one of them being that of Feist.

"We are here to see Herr Schönborn".

"Tell him that the ..."

"Who are you?"

"Herr Schönborn ..."  
"Where is he?"

"The master has retired for the night and cannot be disturbed".

"We'll see about that ..."  
"No, you can't come in here ..."

"Get out of the way, you daft old bugger!"

Edith looked up to see to her horror, three armed men, elbowing their way forcibly past Feist, and into the hall. Instantly, she rose to her feet; placing herself between the intruders and her husband. Became aware too, that above her, on the landing, there was an assemblage of anxious, frightened faces gazing down into the lantern lit hall below. Took in and in an instant Sybil, with Saiorse standing beside her, along with Danny with his bandaged head, Robert, Simon his arm in a sling, and young Bobby, all in their nightclothes.

"Who are you? What do you want here?"

"I'm sorry, madam, but they wouldn't take any notice".  
"It's all right, Feist. Thank you," Edith replied calmly, doing her very best to keep her voice level. There was no need to exacerbate further an already tense situation. "Would you please close the front door and then attend to your other duties. I will deal with these three ... gentlemen".

"Yes, madam," replied Feist, his voice rich with evident relief. The old man nodded curtly, turned, and closed the front door. Then, without so much as a backward glance, watched by one and all, the butler made his way,sedately as before, across the hall, before disappearing through the green baize door leading to the offices below.

* * *

 **West of Rózsafa, Hungary, summer 1933.**

At the very last minute, the soldiers barring Mary's path, scattered. All that was, save one, who stood his ground, sought to catch hold of her bridle but she fended him off, just as she had done with his two compatriots across the yard, with yet another well aimed blow from her riding crop. With the cheers and the roar of the crowd at Kincsem ringing in his ears, Patrik took the wagon in a single leap, soared over it, through the open gateway, and landed safely on the other side. Not that for an instant Mary slowed their madcap flight.

And it was well that she did not.

For, having recovered themselves, the soldiers, incensed that a woman should have made such fools of them, their masculinity and pride affronted, now took aim at the fleeing horse and its rider with their rifles; a succession of shots raking the sandy soil of the track with a peppering, stinging hail of bullets.

* * *

 **Entrance Hall, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, the night of that same day.**

"Frau Schönborn?"

Edith nodded.  
"I am Frau Schönborn. Who are you? What do you mean by bursting in here like this?"

Before any of the men could make answer, in that same instant Max moved swiftly to stand protectively in front of his mother. Horrified, Edith reached out a restraining hand, placed it on Max's shoulder, only to have her son brush it angrily away.

"Max, no!"

At which point, Edith became aware of a sudden movement on the landing above. Heard Sybil's anguished cry.

"Danny, no! Don't!"

Turning her head, Edith saw Danny, the injuries he had sustained at the old water tower seemingly forgotten, followed closely by Robert, racing down the marble steps of the main staircase, then running across the hall, before coming to a stand beside their cousin. While there was nothing soft about either of them, by inclination and temperament, neither Danny nor Robert were fighters, indeed quite the reverse. All the same, each now raised a pair of clenched fists.

"If yous hurt him ... "

"Tous pour un ..." began Robert.

* * *

For all that Max loved his two cousins dearly, longed to be just like them, even if his health meant that he never would, at times trailed devotedly after them, there was nothing soft about him either. Glancing sideways, first at Danny, and then at Rob, Max's heart soared. Then, he shook his head.

"Alles in Ordnung. Kein Angst! These men won't hurt you, me ... any of us. Das stimmt?" Max asked, looking directly at the three strangers before doing something which surprised not only his mother and his two cousins but also everyone else in the hall. Just a simple gesture. Held out his right hand to the nearest of the three intruders.

"Shalom. Brukhim-Haboim".

Max smiled.

* * *

 **West of Rózsafa, Hungary, summer 1933.**

Fearful that the soldiers might board their truck and set off in pursuit of her, Mary did not slow the stallion's furious pace until she was both out of range and well clear of the old brick works. When, at last, she drew rein, bending forward in the saddle, patting Patrik's neck by way of reassurance, whispering to him words of grateful appreciation for the part he had played in her madcap escape, the huddle of old buildings were but a distant blur on the vastness of the great plain.

Sometime later, coming towards her, at a steady pace, Mary espied a horse and rider. She could hardly turn back whence she had come and here, out on the flat expanse of the Alföld, mile upon mile of barren, stubbled emptiness, there was nowhere for her to hide. So instead, once again Mary drew rein, sat her horse, and waited.

Several minutes passed before the rider reached her, whereupon the man doffed his cap respectfully and smiled. Indicated, by means of many nods and several gesticulations, that he was to ride with her. Presumably, then, this was Sebastyén, of whom Manfred had spoken, and who he had promised to send out from the house, to escort her safely back to Rózsafa.

Given that she had managed to deal with what had happened at the brick works on her own, Mary saw no need for an escort. Nonetheless, with her command of Hungarian being non existent and Sebastyén's knowledge of English no better, there was nothing that could be done to make the old man understand that his presence here was unnecessary. And so, in both silence and in sunshine, they trotted off down the track which led to the road, and thence to the distant kastély.

* * *

 **Entrance Hall, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

The man smiled too; took hold of Max's outstretched hand, and shook it warmly.

"Shalom!" he repeated. "Shkoyekh".

Max nodded.

"I'm sorry, but I don't remember any more," he said shyly.

Unbeknown to each, both the man and Max were remembering back to a snowy night some two years ago, in Leopoldstadt, the Jewish Quarter in Vienna, when Max's mother had played her part in helping rescue three young Jewish men from the unwelcome attentions of members of the Heimwehr.

"No matter. We've come to see your father".

Realisation dawning, Edith smiled too.

"Herr Goldstein. Of course! I should have recognised you. Do, please, forgive me," Edith extended her hand gracefully, just as if she had been welcoming guests arriving for a dinner party, rather than confronting three armed men who had burst into her home. Watching from the landing, so slightly out of earshot and not speaking German, Sybil could only marvel at her sister's _sangfroid_. After all, not everyone would be capable of dealing so coolly with such a situation.

"Frau Schönborn". Goldstein bowed his head respectfully; kissed her outstretched hand. Nodded at Max. "He's a credit, both to you and to Austria". Hearing this, Max blushed, while behind her, Edith heard Friedrich rising slowly to his feet.

"What brings you and your friends to Rosenberg?" he asked.

Goldstein disregarded the question. Took in swiftly Friedrich's dishevelled appearance. When he chose to answer, did so indirectly.

"Before, when we spoke earlier, on the telephone, I told you to be careful, that it was likely there would be ... Thankfully, we were in time; but, only just I think. Had we been able, we would have been here a great deal sooner. Be that as it may, you have been singularly fortunate Herr Schönborn, The man up on the hillside ... we have ... dealt with him. But, that, is something for your ears alone".

What was now being said, what it all meant, went right over young Max's head. A while ago having grown to realise that this was sometimes the way with grownups, Max sought to bring the conversation back to what he himself had been going to say.

"Diese sind meine Cousinen, Danny and Rob. Sie sind auch meinen besten Freunde".

Goldstein nodded.

"Zwei mutige junge Männer! Ich wäre sehr stolz, wenn sie meine Freunde wären".

With the conversation being conducted in a mixture of both Yiddish and German, Danny and Rob looked blankly at each other. Sensing the two boys' confusion, Edith now hastened to explain.

"Boys, this is Herr Goldstein, an ... old family friend. He said ... you were both very brave, in coming to Max's aid. Max said you were his cousins and his best friends. Mr. Goldstein then said he would be very proud if you were his friends".

Danny and Rob blushed scarlet to the roots of their hair, as Goldstein shook hands with each of them, before explaining quickly to Edith that he and his associates needed to speak urgently with Friedrich.

"That being so, I think we'll be more comfortable in my study. Please ..." Friedrich indicated that Goldstein and the two others should now follow him. "My dear, would you be so good as to join us, once ..." Friedrich nodded towards the three boys. "And would you tell Feist to bring us up some coffee and some schnapps".

"Yes, of course".

* * *

 **Rózsafa, Hungary, summer 1933.**

Back at the kastély, having dismounted in the stable yard, having said a hurried farewell to Patrik who had served her so well, leaving Sebastyén to see to the horses, Mary went immediately in search of Matthew to tell him of Manfred's odd, not to say discourteous, behaviour, as well as what she herself had seen out at the old brick works, let alone what had happened there. But now, as she walked briskly through the archway which led from the stables and into the forecourt of the mansion, she came to a sudden stop; drew back beneath the archway out of sight.

For, drawn up on the forecourt of the mansion, in ranks of grey green, was a serried mass of soldiers, many of whom, at least to Mary, looked no older than the young militiamen she had encountered earlier by the stone bridge; along with a small military band and several pieces of field artillery similar to those she had seen out at the old brick works.

Now, as Mary continued to watch, the band struck up. And, as the stirring chords of the _Kaiserhymne_ thundered out across the forecourt of the kastély, in the process startling a flight of doves which soared skyward away across the trees of the surrounding park, even if the tune was unknown to Mary, she now saw unfurled a large yellow banner which bore upon it a crowned, black, double headed eagle, the sight of which evidently meant something to a group of house guests who had gathered on the verandah to watch the unfolding spectacle who clapped their appreciation at what was taking place.

As well they might.

For the flag was the imperial standard of the Habsburgs.

* * *

Watching, like Mary, unseen, in this case from the privacy of Tom's bedroom, by turns both appalled and bemused, Matthew and Tom shook their heads in disbelief.

"Poor fools, they're ready to give their lives for a cause already lost," Matthew observed in a voice tinged with regret.

"Already lost?"  
"Undoubtedly so".

"Yet, there will be others, just like them, for sure?"

"Indeed".

"Well then ..."

"Let me state for you a principle of war, with which, my dear friend, you are doubtless unfamiliar".  
"Which is?"  
"Never reinforce a failure".

"And will they? Fail, do you think?"

Matthew ghosted a smile.  
"Oh most certainly they will. For, even if they reach Budapest, the Allies will never permit the postwar settlement here in Europe to be disturbed".

* * *

 **Entrance Hall, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

With Goldstein having promised Max that they would meet again, in happier times, a moment later, the study door had closed.

"Boys, it's high time that all three of you were in bed and fast asleep".

"Yes Aunt Edith".

"Yes, Mama".

As Edith watched the three boys troop, unwillingly, back across the hall and up the stairs, she looked to where Sybil was still standing on the landing along with Saiorse, Simon, and Bobby.

"Sybil, darling, would you be an angel and see that ..."  
"Yes, of course. Now, come along all of you, back to bed".

It was only now, as the three boys reached the landing, that Danny caught sight of Saiorse's face.

"Jaysus, sis, what's happened to ya face?"

At which point, well aware that the children had had quite enough excitement for one night, Sybil intervened; decisively so. Assumed the no nonsense manner for which she was well known, not only at the Rotunda hospital in Dublin, but also at home in Idrone Terrace in Blackrock; one that brooked no opposition. She silenced the clamour of youthful voices in an instant.

"No, Danny, not now. It's back to bed for you, my lad. Yes, Robert, you as well. Max, Bobby, darling, you too. All of you. Simon, dear, before you settle down, I really think I ought to have another look at your sling. Saiorse, darling, you can sleep with me. We'll talk about all of this tomorrow".

Yet, the following morning, when daylight came stealing insistently through the shuttered windows of Rosenberg, both adults and children found they had other things with which to be concerned.

* * *

 **Rózsafa, Hungary, summer 1933.**

Matthew said he had not known that Tibor and the Waldsteins were distantly related; went on to confirm what Tibor himself had said, that here in Hungary that was often the way of it with the aristocracy. Had been delighted to learn that young Micky was here with his parents. Now, on hearing from Mary what had happened to her out at the brick works, Matthew was by turns incredulous and admiring of how she had extricated herself from what, undoubtedly, had been a very dangerous and unpleasant situation.

For her part, Mary was dismissive.

"Bloody foreigners! They should all learn to speak English!" But secretly, Mary was rather pleased by all the fuss Matthew was making of her.

"Given what your saw, I rather think we now know where that stray shell came from. Probably a bout of gunnery practice that went awry. As to the telegram and what we ourselves do next, I really think I should go and speak with Tibor".

* * *

When, a short while later, Matthew returned, having briefly renewed in passing his acquaintance with young Micky Waldstein, promising to chat more fully with the boy later, it was with the news that Tibor was nowhere to be found. Moreover, this time, no-one seemed to know where it was he had gone. According to Micky, Tibor had dropped his parents and himself off at the kastély a while ago before then driving off in the Maybach accompanied by two officers. But where he had gone, Micky didn't know.

* * *

And so, here at Rózsafa the long summer afternoon wore on; the only other matter of concern being that while Mary was changing out of her riding habit, when Tom and Matthew went to enquire about putting through a telephone call to Rosenberg later that evening, they were informed by the butler that the telephone was out of order; apparently, there was some problem with the exchange in Gyula.

* * *

As for Manfred, there was still no sign of him either.

On learning that Mary had returned to the kastély, Eva came in search of her. Was not at all concerned to learn of the loss of the loaned riding hat - Mary making up a tale to account for it, saying that her horse had been spooked, she supposed by a snake. It was only when she had finished telling her story that Mary fell to wondering if indeed there were snakes in Hungary. Not that she need have worried. Eva said there were; that it had probably been a viper.

But, while apologising for Manfred having left Mary the way he had, Eva professed complete ignorance as to what it was that had so urgently demanded his attention back here at Rózsafa. Estate business, she presumed. Though what, she knew not. However, she was certain that both he and Tibor would return before dinner; by which time she hoped the telephone would be in order again and Tom would be able to make his call to Rosenberg. In the meantime, would they all like to adjourn down to the garden, where drinks were still being served? Sit themselves in the cool shade beneath the trees. Perhaps then a game of croquet? Or, else, even a gentle round of tennis? Would they let Tom know?

"Of course," said Mary.

"Well, then, see you all in a while".

A moment later, and Eva was gone.

* * *

"Did you believe her?" asked Matthew.

"If you mean about not knowing just what it was that brought Manfred back here at the double or where it is Tibor has gone? No, not at all. That apart, when have you ever known me to play bloody croquet?"

"Never!"

"What about Tom?"

The very notion was so ridiculous that they both burst out laughing.

* * *

 **Garden,** **Rózsafa.**

So far adroitly, and he hoped, without causing rancour, or giving any offence, Matthew had fended off a series of increasingly insistent, not to say belligerent, questions from his largely aristocratic audience.

What did he think would be the view of Great Britain should there be a restoration of the Habsburg dynasty to the throne of Hungary in the person of Crown Price Otto? What if Hungary demanded a revision of the terms of the Treaty of Trianon? Would Great Britain be supportive of such a request? What would be the view in London, if Budapest insisted on the restoration of those lands lost to the newly created states of Czechoslovakia and Yugoslavia? Failing a diplomatic settlement, the Kingdom of Hungary resorted to the use of military force to achieve her desired aims, what then? And most importantly of all, what of the demand for the return of Transylvania from Roumania? Surely, the earl of Grantham knew the plea on the lips of all patriotic Hungarians - _Don't let Transylvania be lost to us_ ? After all, as a result of that iniquitous treaty, Hungary had been drastically reduced in size, with millions of indigenous Hungarians forced to live outside its borders. Was that not an entirely reprehensible state of affairs? The loss of Hungary's access to the sea, completely unacceptable? Had Lord Rothermere not said that there would not be peace in Europe until the treaty was amended - in Hungary's favour? And now that the Allied Mission had withdrawn, what if Hungary were to re-arm? Pursue closer ties with both Fascist Italy and Nazi Germany? What was the earl of Grantham's opinion of the Regent?

And so the questions had kept coming.

What if this ...

What if that ...

Standing beside Matthew was Mary. Elegantly dressed in a dark blue Martial and Armand ensemble d'après-midi, she smiled, nodded, and made polite conversation. But while most of the issues being discussed went over her head, this did not prevent Mary from being very much impressed by Matthew's knowledge of the matters in contention, and she mentally awarded her husband full marks for both his tact and diplomacy.

* * *

 **Verandah, Rózsafa.**

That Tom too was managing to hold his own, as well as keep his temper, with those gathered about him, given the political views which were being expressed, based as they were, in part, on antiquated notions of class which Tom found patently ridiculous, let alone others which were decidedly anti-Semitic and anathema to his ears, was much to his credit.

"Gentlemen, surely, what you are suggesting is a coup d'état". Although they were out of earshot of the other house guests, given the nature of what they were discussing, understandably Tom kept his voice low. Collectively, Count Bethlen and his colleagues nodded their heads.

"In effect, yes".

"You sound surprised?" Count Konopy, to whom Tom had been introduced a short while ago - here in Hungary there seemed to be no end to the succession of counts, barons, and princes - looked questioningly at the Irishman over the rim of his brandy glass.

"I am".  
"Oh, come now. Was not the Easter Rising a putsch, against the British government?"  
Tom smiled.

"For sure. But the Rising failed".

Konopy smiled too.

"Indeed. But did it not give impetus to the struggle against the British rule, leading to Ireland gaining her independence?"

Tom nodded.

"In effect, yes".

"Well, then ..."

"But do you have any idea, what it all cost?"  
"Cost?"  
"I mean in lives lost, the division of Ireland into the Free State and the North, and a lasting legacy of bitterness and hatred".

"Mr. Branson, in every conflict there are casualties. Regrettable, but, nonetheless, a fact of life. Surely, you as a newspaper editor, know that to be the case".

"That apart, as Hungarians loyal to the Apostolic Crown, it is our solemn duty to do what must to be done," Baron Csernovits interjected.

"Duty?"

"Indeed".

"We and our forbears swore a Holy Oath of fealty to the Habsburg dynasty. Our honour demands that we act". There was no doubting Count Duca's sincerity.

"That maybe," said Tom, choosing his words with deliberate care, "but some would call what you propose, treason".

Count Tolvay smiled.

"Many would not," Prince Széchy interposed quietly.

Those about him nodded their agreement.

Tom shook his head in disbelief.

"They'll hang ... all of yous," he said softly.

"Only if we fail".

* * *

 **Somewhere northwest of** **Rózsafa, that same afternoon.**

It was not only Manfred and Tibor who were conspicuous by their absence from Rózsafa; two house guests, a brother and sister had departed the kastély some time before Mary returned; this, for a pre-arranged rendezvous, some miles distant of the mansion.

"My thanks to you both; one way or another, the photographs you have taken will doubtless prove very useful to the Reich". The German officer pocketed the small metal canister containing the roll of film. "And now, Fräulein, a word of advice, to you both".

"Which is what?" simpered Unity.

"When you return to Rózsafa, make whatever excuses you like and then leave".

"And why is that?"  
"Because, in view of ... certain developments ... it would be singularly unwise for you to remain".

 **Author's Note:**

The 1920s and '30s would see the swansong of the Hungarian aristocracy. There were literally thousands of members of this noble elite, and while by this time, many were impoverished, most still owned large amounts of landed property in what remained of the Kingdom of Hungary. After the end of WWII, the Communist government abolished all noble titles and confiscated the estates of the aristocracy, thus eliminating "elements of feudalism, which had persisted for longer in Hungary than anywhere else in Europe". While some of the nobility managed to escape to the west, with more following in the aftermath of the failed uprising against the Communist regime in 1956, the ultimate fate of the majority of the Hungarian nobility under Communist rule does not make for pleasant reading.

Martial & Armand was a prominent Parisian couture house situated on the fashionable Place Vendôme during the first quarter of the twentieth century.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty Three

 _An der schönen blauen Donau_

 **Rózsafa, Hungary, summer 1933.**

Although he had told Matthew that he didn't know where his cousin Tibor had gone, Micky had not been entirely truthful. He did know. At least up to a point.

Earlier, when Micky had asked how he was to reach their agreed rendezvous which lay some distance from the house, well beyond the gates at the end of the avenue, Tibor had laughed. Said he was certain that being a resourceful young chap Micky would find a way to overcome such a minor difficulty which was why, having followed Tibor's instructions to the letter and been careful to ensure that no-one saw him leave the house, Micky was riding a borrowed bicycle, the machine taken from where its owner had left it, propped against a wall in the outer courtyard of the kastély.

Micky wasn"t at all sure what it was Tibor wanted him to do. However, his cousin had said that he was just the man for the job; whatever that might be. Like many a fifteen year old boy, Micky enjoyed being treated as an adult, let alone a co-conspirator, and delighted in all the subterfuge involved. No doubt everything would become clear in due course.

But now, as he came in sight of the stone bridge over the stream, Micky ran into an unexpected problem.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria,** **that same day, night.**

To be truthful, Sybil was still none at all the wiser as to exactly what it was that had happened in Saiorse's bedroom. So far, what she had been told, about the head of a black dog appearing suddenly out of the rain soaked darkness outside the window, just before the glass shattered, made not the slightest sense; at least not to Sybil. However, any further discussion of all that would now have to wait until the morning.

So, having seen Saiorse settled in her parents' bed, Sybil then walked the short way down the corridor to look in on Simon. After having re-tied his sling, once she was satisfied that she had made him as comfortable as possible, Sybil went along to see Danny, who she found to be uncharacteristically subdued. Something which, at the time, Sybil put down to the fact that, having been advised to rest, Danny was now paying the price for not having done as he had been told.

All the same, despite his bandaged head, Danny asked once again after Saiorse, which, in the circumstances, Sybil thought was very sweet of him and seemed inordinately buoyed on learning that whatever it was that had happened, his sister had come to no real harm.

* * *

"A black dog, Ma? Really? For sure?" Danny sounded incredulous; as well he might.

"That's what your sister said," replied his mother nodding her head, not bothering to look up, while at the same time tucking the bed clothes in around him.

"So what do ya t'ink it could have been then, Ma?"

"Heaven knows! Certainly not a black dog. It's what comes of your Da telling you and your sister all those tales about bánánachs and banshees when you were little".

Sybil paused.

She had not meant to mention Tom but she had told the children that they should continue to recall the good times when they had all been together and undoubtedly would be again. Only, with each hour that passed, and still no news, it became harder and harder to believe that it would be so.

Not that Danny seemed to mind her having made mention of Tom. Indeed, far from it, for he grinned broadly.

Unlike Ma, Da had never seen any harm in telling Danny and Saiorse Irish folk tales and the creepier they were, the better. Just last year, at Halloween, when Ma had been working a late shift at the Rotunda, with the old oil lamp in his study turned down low, by the flickering light of the fire, while the wind moaned in the chimney, and the waves broke on the shore below the house, Da had read them _Madam Crowl's Ghost_ by Joseph Sheridan le Fanu.

Now, had it not been for the fact that young Bobby had insisted on coming downstairs and hearing the story too, all would have been well, and Ma would never have known a thing about it. However, having been allowed to sit up with his brother and sister and hear the eerie tale, Bobby then promptly disgraced himself later that night by wetting his bed. And when Ma wormed it out of him why it was that had happened and found out that Da had been reading the three of them ghost stories ...

* * *

"... and whatever it was, it's high time, that **you** , my lad, were in bed and fast asleep".

"Yes, Ma," Danny sighed resignedly. He stretched and yawned.

"Now, my darling, off to sleep with you".

Danny nodded.

For a moment, Sybil regarded him thoughtfully before leaning down and kissing him lightly on the forehead. Then she straightened up. Once more stood looking down at her eldest son. No longer the mewling infant whom she had first held in her arms on the very same night Downton had caught fire. And now, no longer a boy either but a young man, on the threshold of life. Yet still only thirteen, and for all his seeming bravado, possessed of an endearing, touching vulnerability.

"Ma?"

"What is it?"

"Those men, the ones downstairs, do they have any news of Da, Uncle Matthew ..."

"I don't know darling. Perhaps".

"If they do ..."

"Then I'd tell you ..."  
"Whatever it was?"

"Of course".  
"Promise?"

"I promise".

She switched off the beside light and walked over to the door which stood ajar.

"Ma?"

Framed in the open doorway, bone weary, Sybil turned; looked back at her son.

"I love ya, Ma".

"And I love you too, my darling. So very, very much".

Her voice faltering, so that Danny should not see her tears, Sybil turned away, and softly closed the door.

* * *

 **Somewhere close to** **Rózsafa** **,** **late afternoon, that same day.**

For, as Micky approached the bridge, there, standing right in the middle of the road, was Uncle Manfred deep in conversation with two army officers, the same pair of men who had driven away with Tibor from the kastély but a short while ago. Whatever they were discussing, appeared to be of very great importance. Fortunately, the three men were facing away from Micky, but now, having brought the bicycle to a stand and then promptly drawn back out of sight, the problem still remained. Namely, how to cross the bridge and rendezvous with Tibor, without being seen?

* * *

 **Rosenberg,** **later that same night.**

At last, with the older children finally back in bed, although not yet asleep - it was too much to expect that they would settle down immediately, not after all the excitement - prompted by Danny's question, Sybil came downstairs to see whether or not Friedrich and Edith's unexpected visitors had brought any news. Somehow, Sybil doubted it and, even if they had ...

* * *

 **Somewhere close to** **Rózsafa, late afternoon, that same day.**

How long Micky sat his borrowed bicycle, he never knew. Down below him, through the trees, as Mary had glimpsed earlier, he caught sight of a group of young militiamen digging a series of trenches. What for, Micky couldn't imagine; unless it was part of some military exercise.

* * *

Then, after what seemed an age, although in reality it had probably been no more than a quarter of an hour, still talking, Uncle Manfred and the two officers moved off from where they had been standing, and disappeared down below the level of the road, into the surrounding trees. Their voices faded away.

When Micky felt certain that they were not coming back, without further ado he set his feet to the pedals of the bicycle and rode hell for leather across the bridge. It was as well that he did so, for but a matter of minutes later, from the direction of the kastély, there now came a lorry full of soldiers; the very same ones whom Mary had encountered out at the old brick works.

The lorry came to a stop and the soldiers on board clambered out, to begin work on laying explosive charges, preparatory to blowing up the bridge.

* * *

 **Rosenberg,** **that same night.**

Sybil reached the foot of the main staircase just as the door to the study opened and the three men followed, by both Friedrich and Edith came out.

* * *

 **Somewhere close to** **Rózsafa, late afternoon, that same day.**

Tibor nodded approvingly at the bicycle.

"Clever lad. I knew I could count on you. You're certain no-one saw you leave the house?"

Micky nodded.

"But I almost ran into Uncle Manfred and two officers on the bridge; the ones you drove away with from the kastély. And there were soldiers too. It looked like they were digging trenches".

"Did any of them see you?"  
"No. I made sure they didn't. In any case, Uncle Manfred and the officers had their backs to me. So I stopped and waited out of sight until they'd gone. That's why I was a bit late".

"No matter; just as long as you weren't seen".

Micky now looked about him; saw a perfectly ordinary field, devoid of life, save that was for themselves, together with the horse drawn cart loaded with straw, atop which Tibor had been sitting, cross legged, waiting patiently for Micky's arrival.

"Why on earth did you want to meet me here?"

Tibor smiled; countered Micky's question with one of his own.

"Do you know what this is?" Tibor indicated the broad expanse of the grass grown field with the sweep of his right arm.

Micky shrugged. He did not want to make a fool of himself. So, in case something startlingly obvious had escaped his attention, his reply was brief.

"A ... field," he said cautiously.

Tibor laughed.

"Full marks for being so perceptive. Yes, a field. What I mean is, what's it **used** for?"  
"Growing stuff?"

Tibor shook his head.

"It's the landing strip. For the house".

"Oh! I see". Micky nodded towards the cart. "And the straw?"

"To mark the landing strip. So that a 'plane may land here ... later tonight, after everyone else has left".  
"What for?" asked Micky looking again at the straw and also at what he had not at first noticed: several cans of paraffin oil.  
"To pick up some people who ... have to leave Rózsafa ... unexpectedly. To fly back to Budapest".

"Oh!"  
"But ..."  
"But what?"  
"Not a word of this, to anyone. Not to Uncle Manfred. Not to Aunt Eva. Not even to your parents. Is that understood?"

Micky nodded.

"Why's that?"

"Because ... I can trust you, can't I?"  
"Of course you can!" Micky sounded appalled by the suggestion that he couldn't keep his mouth shut. "I won't tell a living soul, Tibor! Promise!"

"I'm very glad to hear you say so. Because, my fine young fellow," continued Tibor, placing both his hands on Micky's shoulders, "the lives of the people I mentioned depend on this being done quietly. Now ..."

* * *

 **Entrance Hall, Rosenberg** **.**

Sybil waited while Friedrich and Edith said their farewells to the three men. Then as the front door closed behind them, Sybil stepped forward.

"Is there any news?" she asked.

"I think we'd all do better in the study," said Friedrich.

Sybil nodded.

"As you wish".

If the news had been good, then Friedrich and Edith would have told her what it was straightaway. That they had not, did not bode well.

* * *

 **Drawing Room, Rózsafa, earlier that same night.**

When they all met up, later, for cocktails, before dinner, with Eva standing beside him, Manfred was both all smiles and a thousand apologies.

"Look, I really am most dreadfully sorry; having to leave you like that. But you came to no harm? No, I can see that you didn't. And Sebestyén met you on the road? Of course he did. Well, then, as the English say, _all's well that ends well"_. Manfred ran on and on; not giving Mary a chance to speak and answering all of his own questions for himself. "Now, if you both will excuse us ..." With a further apology that Eva and he must see to their other guests, that was it. Not a single word as to what it was that had so demanded his attention back here at Rózsafa.

* * *

As yet, there was still no sign of Tibor.

Nor was there by the time they went into dinner.

But in this, at least, Mary was to find she had been singularly mistaken.

* * *

 **Dining Room, Rózsafa.**

In reality some sixty feet in length, to those entering it for the very first time, like Matthew, Mary, and Tom, the kastély's magnificent eighteenth century Dining Room appeared to be far longer than in fact was actually the case. This, as a result of a _trompe-l'œil_ , which here took the form of an ornate mirror artfully set within a mock doorway surround situated at the opposite end to where one came in; thus, through the use of this artful illusion, doubling the apparent length of the room.

From its inlaid wooden floor, to the soaring, richly embellished, plaster ceiling, the latter decorated with a painting depicting the prospering of the Habsburg monarchy during the reign of Empress Maria Theresa, a copy, albeit it somewhat smaller, of the original to be found gracing the ceiling of the Great Gallery in the Schönbrunn Palace in distant Vienna, the Dining Room at Rózsafa was panelled entirely in gilded, white painted oak. Made up of teak and ebony blocks, laid so as to form an intricate pattern of stars, the floor had been polished to a high sheen, in which there was reflected not only the painted ceiling but also the gilt wall sconces and a magnificent pair of chandeliers, the latter aglow with a myriad of incandescent electric bulbs, the cut glass, crystal prisms of which flooded the entire length of the long room with refracted light.

The dinner served here tonight at Rózsafa was something which Mary remembered all her life. Not because of all the various courses, but rather for what came after. At the time, she had found herself wondering how long it had been since this magnificent room had witnessed a gathering such as this, with over thirty guests sitting down to dine around the long, oval, mahogany table.

Here in Hungary, however impoverished they might consider themselves to be, the aristocracy still retained vast numbers of servants. So, it came as no surprise to find tonight's meal served to the guests by a retinue of liveried footmen who proceeded to carry out their duties with self assured panache, all under the ever watchful eye of a butler who, in the unobtrusive performance of his own duties, reminded Mary very much of dear old Carson.

* * *

It was while the hors d'oeuvre - a _saumon fumé_ \- was being served, that a thought struck Matthew. Here in what still remained of the ancient Kingdom of Hungary, it was as if the Old Order had determined to carry on forever. All the men present, even young Micky Waldstein, along with another boy, András something or other, whom Micky had introduced to Matthew, and who was of much the same age, fifteen or thereabouts, were in evening attire; the ladies in long gowns, most of whom were wearing a dazzling array of jewellery, whether it be emeralds, pearls, rubies, and sapphires. Or, as was the case with the Countess Judith Karacsay, who for this evening Matthew found seated next to him, a breathtaking blaze of diamonds. It was as if the Great War with all its attendant horrors had never been. That somehow, from his study in the Schönbrunn Palace, the Emperor Franz Joseph still ruled over the sprawling territories of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, Viennese society danced to the strains of waltzes by Johann Strauss, while here in Hungary the monarchy reigned over a country where the Magyar aristocracy yet ruled supreme, possessed of vast landed estates.

As opposed to what in fact was reality and indeed had been so ever since November 1918 when, at the end of the Great War, the crushing military defeat inflicted on Austria-Hungary by Italy at the battle of Vittorio Veneto had brought the centuries old empire crashing down as if it had been no more than a hastily assembled house of cards. Thereafter, fracturing into a whole host of disparate parts; some to be shared out among the victorious allies, witness the existing states of Italy and Roumania. Or else emerging as entirely new countries such as the Kingdom of Yugoslavia or the Republic of Czechoslovakia. While Austria and Hungary were reduced to separate, landlocked, rump states; Austria as a republic, Hungary becoming a kingdom without a king, its aristocracy impoverished, shorn of their wealth and some of their estates. And the last emperor, Karl, now dead and buried ten years since, thereafter exiled along with his wife and young family to the windswept island of Madeira, far out in the storm tossed wilds of the Atlantic Ocean.

* * *

The magnificent display of jewellery being worn here at tonight's dinner was something which, understandably, had not gone unnoticed by Mary. Seated beside Archduke Joseph August, she now found herself regretting bitterly that she had not had the foresight to bring with her on this trip the Grantham tiara and matching ear rings, both of which she had inherited upon the death of her father. For safety's sake, at Matthew's insistence, these days both tiara and ear rings now reposed in the vault of the Midland Bank in Ripon. Unless of course, in his never ending continuing quest to keep the estate solvent, Matthew had seen fit to dispose of them surreptitiously, pocketed the proceeds, and omitted to tell her.

Earlier this evening, seated at her dressing table, while brushing her dark hair, something she would once have had her own maid do for her, watching Matthew in the mirror as he moved about their bedroom, Mary had mentioned, in passing, her woeful lack of suitable jewellery. Having pronounced himself satisfied with his bow tie, Matthew turned and smiled; asked why she had not asked Edith for the loan of some suitable pieces to bring with her here at Rózsafa to wear while they were in Hungary. At that, Mary had pulled a face, and said there were some things that went beyond the call of duty.

* * *

The old archduke must have sensed Mary's pensive mood and, at least in part, the reason which lay behind it, for he smiled, patted her hand, and, before they began the hors d'oeuvre, reminded Mary of what he had already told her. That there was no need to gild a lily, "kedves grófnő". At least Mary understood that. Kindly disposed, the archduke had used the very same words to her when, before dinner, on meeting Archduke Joseph and his wife, Mary had apologised for being, as she saw it, improperly dressed. At the time, Archduke Joseph had been all smiles: said that such things no longer mattered and it was then that he had paid Mary the compliment of saying that there was no need to gild a lily, _kedves grófnő_. Whereupon, as the archduke and his wife had moved away to chat with other guests, Mary had turned to Eva who, when asked what the archduke had said, had whispered a hurried translation.

"Oh, it's perfectly proper, darling; it simply means _dear countess_ ".

Coming as the remark had, from someone who was a member of the illustrious family which had once ruled over the vast Austro-Hungarian empire, not for a moment had Mary supposed that it would have been anything other than _proper_ ; the more so since Archduke Joseph had served, albeit only briefly and for a matter of days, as Reichsverweser, or Regent, of Hungary, back in August 1919. Despite his illustrious lineage, of which he himself was quite disparaging, seated beside him, Mary found the elderly archduke an excellent dinner companion; so unlike her expectation of royalty, based as it was on two brief encounters, one exceeding so, with Their Majesties King George V and Queen Mary.

The first had been when she had been presented at Court, at Buckingham Palace, just before the Great War; the kind of social event with which darling Sybil would have no truck at all. The second occasion had been rather more recent; had taken place only the the previous summer, at Ascot, in the Royal Enclosure, but shortly after Matthew and she had become respectively the new earl and countess of Grantham.

* * *

In fact, if the truth be told, the King's Equerry in attendance upon His Majesty that day, Captain the Honourable Sir John Fortescue, who was known personally to Matthew, had served with him on the Western Front, was, at least in part, responsible for what then had happened. A quiet word from Fortescue to the king and a moment later, there before the crowds in the Royal Enclosure, Their Majesties paused directly in front of Matthew and Mary who respectively bowed and sank down in the deepest of curtsies.

A brief exchange of words had followed, His Majesty enquiring gruffly, as was his wont, being an old sea dog, as to how Matthew was finding his recent elevation to the peerage, upon which the king had obviously just been primed by Fortescue.

"Different, Your Majesty," replied Matthew.  
"Eh, what's that you say?" barked the king. "Different? To what?"

"To my previous life, Sir".

"Hm".

For her part, throughout this whole exchange, short as it was, Queen Mary remained silently aloof.

And that was it; the whole encounter was over in minutes, Their Majesties moving away, passing on through the Royal Enclosure to a ripple of polite applause, Mary catching, as undoubtedly she was not intended to do, the queen's spoken aside to Captain Fortescue.

"A solicitor? Really? How interesting".

Clearly from her tone, Queen Mary, who was well known for her distant, detached manner and stiff reserve, was not remotely interested either in the neophyte earl of Grantham or his countess.

* * *

 **Rosenberg,** **later that same night.**

Somewhat surprisingly, not long after Ma had left him, Danny drifted off to sleep, only to be awakened later by a furtive knocking at the door of his bedroom.

"Dan! Are you awake!"

Danny sprang out of bed, ran over and opened wide the door, to find Rob and Max standing out in the corridor.

"Ah, so you're awake".

"Well, thanks to yous, I am now, for sure! What is it?"

"We need a plan".

"A plan? What for?"

"And just what do you think you're all doing out of bed again?"

"Verdammt!" hissed Max.  
"Cripes!" exclaimed Rob.

"Why, er ... Ma!"

As Sybil moved forward into the light, the three boys caught sight of her tear-stained face. Danny swallowed hard. "What is it, Ma?" he heard himself ask.

* * *

 **Rózsafa, earlier that same night.**

"A difficult question".

Count Bethlen smiled.

"Lord Grantham, there are those of us who believe that the Regent and his new Prime Minister, Gömbös must not be permitted to continue with a policy of ever closer ties with Fascist Italy and Nazi Germany; fear greatly where such a course will ultimately lead. Believe, sincerely, that it will only spell ruination for our country. That being so, we have everything to gain and nothing to lose by getting rid of Admiral Horthy".

* * *

As the haunting strains of the opening bars of what, for many years since, had become the most famous waltz ever written - _An der schönen blauen Donau_ \- drifted towards her on the warm summer evening air, Mary saw Matthew making his way to her across the terrace.

"Ah, there you are. I'd begun to wonder where you ..."

Drawing level with her, Matthew nodded in the direction of the kastély's ballroom and grimaced.

"Mea culpa. I was detained. Unavoidably so. By a pack of wolves. Aristocratic maybe; but wolves nonetheless".

* * *

Like young Micky Waldstein, Matthew had not been entirely honest. That he had been detained was true enough. But it had been Tibor to whom he had just been speaking who, having returned unobserved to the kastély, brought with him disturbing news, which only served to confirm the contents of the enigmatic telegram.

The Hungarian Army was indeed about to attack the rebel forces gathered around Szentes. It was also the case that an assault was to be launched on Rózsafa itself. Exactly when remained unclear, but certainly within a matter of days. That being so, certain arrangements had been put in place ...

* * *

When Tibor had finished explaining what was to happen, Matthew shook his head.

"Good God! Mary will never agree".

"Then be circumspect in what you tell her. It's either that, or else all three of you sit tight and wait for Horthy's troops to come calling. The choice, my friend, is entirely yours".

* * *

"That being so, we should look exactly what we are".

"Which is what, _exactly_?" asked Mary.  
"Why, the devoted, perfect couple of course!" laughed Matthew, offering her his arm. A few moments later, they stepped from off the flagstones of the terrace, through into the ornate ballroom which was rapidly filling with other couples, joining seamlessly with those already waltzing smoothly to and fro across the highly polished floor.

Just inside the double doors, Matthew paused to survey the milling throng. Then he turned, bowed, and held out his hand.

"Lady Grantham, would you give me the singular honour of this waltz?"

Mary sank into a brief curtsey.

"Lord Grantham, I'd be delighted".

"Well, then, to paraphrase the words Shakespeare gives to Henry V at Agincourt: "For Downton, England, and St. George!"

A moment later, both Matthew and Mary were lost to sight among the milieu of other dancers swirling in time to the music, drifting effortlessly round the polished floor of Rózsafa's ballroom.

* * *

"Mary, there's something I need to tell you ..."

* * *

With Matthew once again deep in discussion with Count Bethlen and a group of like minded Hungarian aristocrats, as the small orchestra proceeded to belt out a spirited rendition of the _Wang Wang Blues_ , it was Tom who, with consummate ease, spun Mary across the dance floor.

As they moved effortlessly around the crowded room, even though her mind was on other things, Mary had to admit that Tom was an excellent dancer; better even than Matthew. Conceded, too, that Tom was a fine figure of a man; an opinion helped, at least in part, by the memory of seeing him standing in the corridor, wearing nothing more than a towel. Was it any wonder then that all those years ago, he had captured Sybil's heart? Singularly odd that at the time none of the family had realised what was afoot.

* * *

This close to Tom, Mary had the opportunity to appreciate something else which, one long gone Christmas Eve at Downton, Sybil, then in the mood for exchanging confidences, had made mention of. Namely, the breadth of Tom's shoulders and the width of his back. With her right hand resting on his shoulder, Mary let her fingers softly trace a path across Tom's collarbone. Her face, so often a mask of aristocratic disdain and inscrutability, must have betrayed her innermost thoughts for she saw Tom smile, before bending his head towards her.

"Did Matthew tell you ... about the motor?" he asked quietly.

"Yes. And why". Mary bit her lip nervously.

"Don't worry, we'll pull through".

"Do you really believe we will?"  
Tom nodded.

"For sure. Just as you and Matthew must, for Robert, Simon, Rebecca, and the child you're carrying. And in my case, for Sybil and the children".

* * *

Finally, Micky had plucked up enough courage to ask the beautiful countess of Grantham what he had been wanting to ask her all evening: would she grant him the favour of a dance.

"Of course. So long as it's something slow. And if you tread on my toes ..."  
"I wouldn't dare!" Micky laughed. His grin was infectious. Mary laughed too. Matthew had been right; fifteen or not, there was something very appealing about young Micky Waldstein which made Mary warm to him.

* * *

The small orchestra struck up with the syncopated rhythm of _Puttin' on The Ritz._

Mary shook her head.

"This isn't at all what I had in mind".

"Please ..."

Micky looked so crestfallen, that Mary found herself relenting.

"Very well young man, if you insist!"  
"I do!"

Micky grinned.

But given what Matthew had told her earlier, all the while they were dancing, Mary's mind was in a whirl.

* * *

"So, in your opinion, you deem your present government so unsatisfactory that you feel you have no alternative but to ..." Tom paused; this was dangerous ground. Given what Matthew and he had learned in Budapest, that which Bethlen had now admitted came as no great surprise. All the same, Tom was equally mindful of the count's earlier warning: not to meddle in Hungary's affairs. Yet, here he was, being more than candid, to a foreign national, as to what was envisaged: a coup d'état which would remove Admiral Horthy from his position as Regent of Hungary and place young Crown Prince Otto on the vacant throne.

Count Bethlen nodded.

"Quite. I take it then that you love your country?"

Tom nodded.

"Certainly".

"So, were you to find yourself in the fortuitous position of being able to act for the general good of Ireland, would you not lend your weight to do so?"  
Again Tom nodded.

"Well, the same is true of us, in respect of Hungary".

"I don't doubt that. But a coup d'état ..."

"Are you not loyal to Ireland?"

"To Ireland and to other things".

"Is that possible?"

Tom nodded.

"For sure".

* * *

For all his youthful years, Micky was more than managing to hold his own. A few false steps certainly, but only once, and that as they had executed a particularly swift turn at the far end of the ballroom, had he trodden on Mary's toes. Micky had been mortified.

"Lady Grantham, I'm so sorry I ..."  
"Don't apologise, young man. Think nothing of it!"

* * *

Despite what had happened earlier at the brickworks, the threat of what was hanging over them, Mary was enjoying herself. She caught sight of Matthew, clearly amused, watching both her and her young partner, from one side of the room. A moment later and Micky felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. He looked up. Saw it was his friend, the earl of Grantham. Made a mental correction. Matthew.

"Forgive me, old boy, for cutting in, but if you don't mind, I'd like to dance with my wife!"  
Micky grinned; regretfully relinquished his hold of Mary.

"Thank you, Lady Grantham. He bowed. Mary sketched a curtsy.

"My pleasure!" She smiled.

Micky went off in search of his friend, Andras, and Matthew spun Mary quickly back into the dance.

"As I told you, there's not much time. We need to travel light. So, this is what I want you to do ..."

* * *

"Really?"

"I don't doubt your sincerity. All the same ..."

"You may have heard that a member of our own parliament, Miksa Fenyő, who sits as an independent, has written a critique of Herr Hitler and his Nazi Party?"  
"Indeed". Tom nodded.  
"Well, in his paper, which I need hardly say, was not well received in Germany, nor, if I am honest, by some of our fellow countrymen either, Fenyő spelt out bluntly what he believes to be the German Fuhrer's intentions in Europe. Those of us here share Fenyő's conclusions and they do not make for pleasant reading. Yet Horthy and Gömbös are still intent on their policy of rapprochement with Germany which, while it may be beneficial to Hungarian interests in the short term will, in the end, spell disaster. Especially with the rump of the kingdom now surrounded on all sides by states once part of the empire which are not well disposed towards Hungary. Take, for example, Roumania, who has taken Transylvania from us: Czechoslovakia, formed from the Kingdom of Bohemia, Moravia, as well as Slovakia, which like Transylvania was once part of the Kingdom of Hungary. Did not Ireland feel threatened by Great Britain?"

Tom demurred; pointed out, he hoped politely, that Transylvania had been ceded to Roumania under the terms of the Treaty of Trianon, that, for the most part, those territories which now formed the new republic of Czechoslovakia had chosen to secede from the old empire at the end of the Great War, that the Free State was, in fact, still part of the British Empire, that ...

Nonetheless, it was clear that, on such contentious matters, no consensus would ever be possible and, with tempers beginning to fray, the conversation grew ever more heated. Fortunately for Tom, Matthew came to his rescue, explaining to both Count Bethlen and the others that, as they were leaving tomorrow morning, to begin the long journey back to Austria, courtesy dictated that they should make their formal adieus to the other guests.

* * *

As they walked away, once they were safely out of earshot of Count Bethlen and the others, Tom gave a sideways grin at his brother-in-law's profile.

"Thank you for the timely rescue!"

Matthew chuckled.

"Don't mention it, old boy. My pleasure, I do assure you. I could hear your Irish temper beginning to get the better of you from the other side of the room. And since, in the present circumstances, a diplomatic incident would be most unfortunate, I thought it wise to intervene. Apart from making our farewells ..."

* * *

 **Rosenberg, later that same night.**

"It's Da, isn't it?" asked Danny.

* * *

 **Rózsafa, that same night.**

By now, most of the house guests at Rózsafa had long since departed and at this hour but a handful remained, these now saying their goodbyes to both Manfred and Eva. A short while later, and the very last of the carriages and motors had disappeared down the drive and off into the night; their occupants for the most part either returning to their own estates or else going to stay with friends and relations.

One of those remaining behind at Rózsafa was young Micky Waldstein who, along with Tibor, was to re-join his parents tomorrow, at Gávavencsellő, which belonged to the Wencheims, for a picnic, and thence by express train to the Bosphorus, and Constantinople, there to spend the rest of the summer with distant kin before the family returned to Erdőtelek, and Micky to his school in Geneva, in the autumn.

In all of this, conspicuous by their absence, had been Unity Mitford and her brother both of whom, it transpired, had left the kastély even before dinner. Quite where it was they had gone, no-one seemed to know. Possibly back across the border to Roumania, there to stay with friends near Oradea.

* * *

 **Matthew and Mary's bedroom, Rózsafa, early the following morning.**

Having helped Tom push the motor from the stables as far as the outer courtyard - they dared not risk starting the engine, at least not yet - on his way back to the house to fetch Mary, Matthew had the misfortune to almost run slap-bang into a detachment of soldiers, lining up in the inner courtyard. The arrival of soldiers here at Rózsafa was something with which they could well do without and so, in order to avoid being seen, Matthew had been forced to take a circuitous route back here.

* * *

Softly opening the door, he found the room beyond to be in darkness, save that was for the faint light from one single lamp, by which he saw Mary had done as he had asked and changed into clothes which were suitable for travelling. Saw too that, lying on the bed, she had fallen asleep. Matthew shook her gently by the arm.

"Darling, wake up, it's time".

A moment later Mary awoke. She stretched and yawned.

"What, **now**? I was having the most delicious dream ..." She looked up at Matthew; then sat bolt upright on the bed and glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. "Matthew, it's four in the morning!"  
"I know what time it is. And, yes, now".

"But what about the rest of our ...?"  
"Darling, as I told you, they're things which, at least for now, we can well do without. Our lives depend on it".

* * *

"No, not that way. Here, come with me ..."

Taking Mary firmly by the hand, Matthew led her in the opposite direction to that which she had expected, past what had been Tom's bedroom, down the darkened corridor, along which the absent, kimono clad Unity Mitford had fled following her failed attempt at seduction, as far as a small alcove where Matthew paused. Now opened a door all but concealed in the panelling which, Mary found, led into a narrow stone flagged passage. Thence to the head of a winding, spiral staircase, which, having descended it, brought them, eventually, to a little used side door, through which they emerged into the rear courtyard on the far side of which stood the motor, already loaded with what of their luggage they were taking with them, and Tom sitting up front in the driver's seat.

* * *

Down the years, Edith, Sybil, and Matthew, had all said, independently of each other, that Tom was a good man to have beside one in a crisis. Something which he had proved to Mary herself; first in the aftermath of the bombing of the Shelbourne Hotel in Dublin back in June 1919, and then again at Downton on the night of the fire.

Now here he was doing so again; ready to drive the motor which would take all three of them to safety across the border in Roumania **.**

* * *

Catching sight of Matthew and Mary, Tom clambered out of the motor.

"Ah, there yous are". Sketching the peak of an imaginary cap, Tom held open the rear door of the Maybach. "Just like old times, for sure!"

* * *

Despite the seriousness of the situation, let alone Mary feeling sick to the very pit of her stomach which she put down to **THAT** and not to nervousness, she was a Crawley after all, Mary managed to summon up the ghost of a smile.

"Thank you ... Branson. Is there anything you can't do?" she quipped.

Rising to his aristocratic sister-in-law"s spirited repartee, Tom chuckled.

"I'm not sure I"ll make a very good chauffeur".

"Don't worry, if we do manage to come through this unscathed, I'll see that you're given a good character!"

"Why, thank you, milady!" Tom grinned.

"Tom, I ..." Mary's voice faltered. Gently, Tom squeezed her hand - he hoped reassuringly.

She smiled.

* * *

Mary turned to take one last look at Rózsafa.

In the cold light of dawn, there seemed to have descended upon the slumbering kastély, an eerie stillness. It was almost as if the house itself was waiting for something to happen. Mary placed her right foot on the running board of the motor and, as she did so, in that very same instant, from somewhere, came a low rumble.

"Did you hear that?" Tom asked, glancing back through the archway at the shadowy figures of the soldiers, standing to attention in the inner courtyard. A moment later, from the same direction, there came shouted cries of alarm, followed by the pounding of many pairs of booted feet.

* * *

As it had done before, once again Matthew's military experience on the Western Front stood him in good stead; some sixth sense alerting him as to what was happening.

"Get down! Both of you!"

Ignoring Mary's protests, grabbing hold of his wife, Matthew pulled her with him down onto the flagstones where they were joined scarce a moment later by Tom, all three of them prostrate, sheltering in the lee of the Maybach, as a salvo of high explosive shells whined overhead. The first detonated some distance away in a huge column of dust and earth. The next landed among the troops assembled in the inner courtyard, spattering it with bloodied fragments of flesh and bone. The third hit the mansion itself, sending up a lurid sheet of red and orange flame.

* * *

 **Landing Strip, Rózsafa, Hungary, the very same time.**

Finally, came the sound for which they had both been waiting; the unmistakable roar of an approaching aircraft. As it came in low from the east, Tibor and Micky caught sight of the silver coloured Junkers, its fuselage and wings glinting brightly in the early morning light; completely unaware, of course, of what had happened over the Carpathians, with Conrad having had to restart the engine several times. However, at least for the present, whatever it was that had been the source of all the trouble, was behaving itself.

"There it is!" yelled Micky, pointing at the incoming 'plane; the pilot could be seen looking down from the cockpit, clearly trying to pinpoint the whereabouts of the landing strip. Well, they could help him with that.

"Now, quick as you like. Fire it!"

Micky didn't need to be told twice; blowing hard on the glowing taper he was holding until it flared into life, before thrusting it deep into the nearest heap of paraffin soaked straw. As that took fire, bursting into a spray of yellow and orange flames, with Dévaj scampering after him, barking furiously, Micky ran to the second pile. Thence to the third, to the next, and so on; running down the length of the landing strip, until one whole side of it was lit by blazing heaps of straw before racing across the field, and repeating the process; running like the wind back up the airstrip, setting light in turn to the remaining piles of straw, until they too were likewise all ablaze.

* * *

The aeroplane swept down over the field, before banking hard to port, and turning back; coming in lower still, the pilot clearly preparing to land the Junkers directly between the two lines of blazing straw. Then, suddenly, from the direction of the kastély, came several enormous explosions, which lit up the night sky as if it had been midday.

The attack on Rózsafa had been launched much sooner than expected; the house now coming under sustained shell fire from field artillery of the Royal Hungarian Army.

* * *

Unlike Tibor and Micky, Conrad was able to see what was happening at the kastély. That being so, just before the wheels of the Junkers touched the ground, Conrad pulled back hard on the joystick and, instead of landing, the aeroplane soared away into the flame shot blackness of the night.

 **Author's Note:**

Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu (1814-1873) was an Irish writer of Gothic tales and ghost stories.

For the fire at Downton, see _Home is Where The Heart Is._

The Italian victory at the Battle of Vittorio Veneto (24th October - 3rd November 1918) led to the collapse of the Austro Hungarian empire and helped bring about the end of the Great War a week later.

"being an old sea dog" - as a young man, King George V had served in the Royal Navy for some fifteen years.

 _An der schönen blauen Donau_ \- the Blue Danube Waltz.

What Shakespeare actually has Henry V say is "Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!"

Miksa Fenyő (1877 –1972) was a Hungarian writer and intellectual. He was also almost the only member of the Hungarian Parliament to openly criticize the Nazi regime in Germany; leading to Fenyő being placed on Hitler's "Most Wanted" list.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty Four

 _Non Omnis Moriar_

 **Rózsafa, Hungary, summer 1933.**

Here at Rózsafa, with forces loyal to the Regent having launched their diversionary assault on the kastély, Death and all His attendant horrors stalked in the shadows and dark places of the nightmare that was in fact the reality into which the summer night had descended. A fiery, noisy, smoke filled darkness; one of confusion, chaos, and carnage. And, while Death continued His grim work, next to the motor, Matthew, Mary, and Tom lay huddled together on the gravel of the outer courtyard; Matthew doing his utmost to shield Mary with his own body. Not that he could blot out the noise of what was happening with, as the kastély took fire, the crash of falling stone and the splintering of wood borne towards them on the wings of a scorching breeze.

Nor for that matter could Mary; who found herself wondering, what had become of Manfred and Eva and anyone else who had the misfortune to have been in the house when Rózsafa came under shell fire. Now, despite covering both her ears with her hands, heard a series of deafening explosions, louder than anything she could have ever imagined while the sickening stench of burning grew ever stronger, the dark sky turned crimson and rent with flame.

* * *

 **Friedrich's Study, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, earlier that same night.**

With all of the children once more back in bed, though whether any of them - especially Danny, Robert, and Max - were yet asleep was another matter, along with Friedrich and Edith, at his suggestion, the three adults had adjourned to the study. For the benefit of Sybil, Friedrich had just finished explaining that what had happened here in this very room but a short while ago had been no accident. That the shot fired from the hillside had been an attempt on his life.

From what Friedrich had been told, it transpired that before he died, the would be assassin admitted to having been sent here by the _Deutsche Nationalsozialistische Arbeiterpartei,_ a right wing organisation, many of whose members were pressing for greater ties with Nazi Germany although that organisation would doubtless deny all knowledge of what had happened.

Nor did it do to enquire into how Goldstein and his two friends had managed to find out that the would be assassin had been in the pay of the DNSAP. It had not been noticed when the three young men arrived but after they were all seated together in the study, drinking coffee and schnapps, Friedrich saw that there was blood on their clothing. However, when he asked if they needed the services of a doctor, he had been told that the blood was not their own; Goldstein observing tartly that in these situations one could not afford to be too fastidious in the means employed to extract information. Edith had been appalled and Friedrich had bristled; saying that while he was grateful to them for what they had done, he deplored such methods which made them no better than the thugs in the employ of the Heimwehr or the DNSAP.

In the face of such trenchant criticism, the three men had remained silent. When Friedrich had said his piece, Goldstein had shrugged his shoulders, reached forward and began toying with the brass rocking blotter, crested with the figure of a sphinx, lying on the desk. A moment later he stopped what he was doing and looked directly at his host.

"Am I to understand it, Herr Schönborn, that you would have preferred a bullet in the brain? If so, it would seem that we have rather wasted our time".

* * *

"Unfortunately, Sybil, the political situation here in Austria is not like it is in England, or indeed, Ireland. There are all manner of undercurrents and some men are prepared to use violence to achieve power. I'll spare you the details but Edith will know that what I have said is the truth of it".

Edith nodded.

"Yes, and more's the pity".

"Then why on earth do you stay? Why don't you leave?" asked Sybil.

That there had been an attempt on Friedrich's life was utterly appalling. However, given what Tom had told her, about how things stood in Austria at the present time, while Sybil had little interest in politics - she left all that to Tom - she had seen for herself, back in Ireland, the lengths to which some people would go to try and impose their views on others. So, that it should happen elsewhere in another country, came as no particular surprise.

"We've talked about that - leaving - for the sake of darling Max. And now of course there's little Kurt to consider," said Edith softly.

"So then why don't you?"

Edith smiled.

"Sybil, darling, at the end of the war, when things became ... difficult ... over there in Ireland, did you never once suggest to Tom that the two of you should leave and come to live in England?"  
"Yes, more than once, indeed several times while we were living down at Skerries, and the situation there in Country Cork had gone from bad to worse; the last occasion being just before Tom disappeared".

"So, what possessed you to stay?"

"I think you know the answer to that already".

"Do I?"  
"Yes".  
"Then, humour me".

"At the time, Tom told me that, however bad things became, he'd never leave Ireland".

"Did that surprise you?"  
"No, of course not. He's an Irishman".

"Just like I am an Austrian. So then, my dear, it will come as no surprise to learn that I have no intention of leaving Austria," observed Friedrich quietly.

"Put like that, no, not at all. I can understand exactly how you must feel," said Sybil.

But there was worse news to come.

Much worse.

* * *

 **Landing strip, Rózsafa, Hungary, summer 1933.**

By the flickering light of the flames still rising from the piles of paraffin soaked straw, with Dévaj unaware of what had happened capering about in delight chasing his own tail, appalled at the sudden and unexpected turn of events, Tibor and Micky stood side by side watching in silence as the silver coloured Junkers soared away into the darkness of the night sky.

As the plane finally vanished out of their sight, from the direction of Rózsafa, along with the deafening sound of several more enormous explosions, there came the crackle of small arms fire. Micky turned to Tibor.

"From what you told me earlier, I thought the attack wasn't to begin until ..."  
"I know what I said. It wasn't. I suppose there must have been some last minute change of plan of which I wasn't aware. I find myself wondering why I wasn't told".

Tibor shook his head in disbelief. Something wasn't right. Yet, surely, he had been circumspect enough in his dealings not to give rise to any suspicion. All the same, up until now, the game he had been playing, one side against the other was, as Matthew himself had said earlier, a very dangerous one. And if Tibor had not given himself away, there remained, of course, the possibility that someone had betrayed him. There was no point wasting time in speculating who might have done so; what needed to be done now was to see if anything could be salvaged from the wreckage.

"So, what on earth do we do?"

Tibor shook his head.

"To be honest, my young friend, I'm not entirely sure, but, somehow, I must warn Matthew ..."

" **Matthew**?"  
"Yes. The 'plane was to collect him, his wife, and their brother-in-law before ... Look, whatever's happening there at Rózsafa I must try and make it back to the house; find out what's become of them. Micky, old chap, I need the loan of your bicycle. And, while I'm gone, you and Dévaj will have to stay put. I suggest you hide in the old barn, where we left the horse and cart. It's off the road and out of the way, but all the same, make sure you keep well out of sight. There's plenty of straw in there. So, burrow down and make yourself invisible to anyone who might come calling. I should be with you in about an hour with the Granthams and Branson úr. That is, if all goes well".

"And if it doesn't?"  
Tibor shook his head.

"It will, trust me".

"All right".

Micky nodded.

"Good luck!"

Tibor smiled.

"If wishes were horses, beggars might ride".  
Micky gave Tibor a quizzical look.

"What does that mean?"  
"When next you see your friend the earl of Grantham, ask him to explain. Now the sooner I get going, the sooner I'll be back".

At which, Tibor mounted the borrowed bicycle and rode off into the darkness, back towards Rózsafa, over which the sky had turned a fiery red.

* * *

 **Friedrich's Study, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, earlier that same night.**

"Setting aside my own woes, Fergal Branson ..." began Friedrich, hesitantly. The matter-of-fact mention of Tom's late cousin took Sybil completely by surprise.

"Who?" she asked.

"Tom's cousin ..." offered Edith, just as falteringly.

"Yes, I know who he was. What of him? Actually, to be truthful, he was Tom's **s** **econd** cousin. The one who kidnapped Danny from the fair in Fiesole, and then tried to kill Tom. Matthew shot him dead. On the ..."

For the moment, the name of the bridge in Florence, where, in the nick of time, Matthew had saved the lives of both Danny and Tom, eluded her; which was hardly surprising, given the fact that Sybil had done her very best to lay to rest and forget what had happened on that night. After all, it had been the stuff of which nightmares are made. Something which none of them would ever truly forget. That being so, ever since the Bransons had returned home, safely, to Ireland, not only for her own sake, but more so for Danny, not that he had ever spoken of it himself, by tacit consent neither Sybil nor Tom ever referred to what had occurred.

"Leave it so," Tom had said. "A case of least said, soonest mended".

And which was very sound advice.

* * *

Yet, for all that, from time to time, the memory of what had happened in Florence resurfaced. Unexpectedly so, as had happened last autumn, in Blackrock, when one Saturday evening, late in November, as a reward for having helped him out in the workshop at the back of the house,Tom had taken Danny into Dublin - on what Sybil had laughingly referred to as a boys' night out - to see the latest escapades of Laurel and Hardy in their new film, _Pack Up Your Troubles, which was_ showing at the Metropole on O'Connell Street.

* * *

 **Idrone Terrace, Blackrock, Irish Free State, November 1932.**

Even though Sybil was some four months into her fourth pregnancy - by her and Tom's agreement it would be her last - she was still working at the Rotunda, and provided all went well intended to continue doing so until Christmas. Tonight, with Tom and Danny out at the pictures and with Saiorse and Bobby fast asleep upstairs, seated by the fireside in the sitting room of the snug house on Idrone Terrace, Sybil had settled down to read the book Edith had sent her. It was called _The Mysterious Affair At Styles,_ penned by the author Agatha Christie who, along with her husband the archaeologist Max Mallowan, were both friends of Friedrich and Edith. However, dog tired, Sybil had managed to read but part of the first chapter before falling asleep.

She was awoken by the noise the book made landing on the floor when it had fallen from her lap while, at the same time, having burned down low, the last of the peat turves in the grate collapsed inwards in a shower of sparks and a rush of flame.

* * *

The noisomness of the dream was still fresh in Sybil's mind yet, as is so often the way with such things, she found she could recall but fragments of it: an overgrown path, leading Sybil knew not where, yet knew that she should ... A small stone building hove into view which again seemed strangely familiar but for the present what it was eluded her ... A damp, musty smell pervaded her nostrils ... of mildew and decay ... _Non Omnis_ ...

* * *

Yawning, stretching, Sybil picked up the book; then glanced at the clock on the mantlepiece. Saw by it that it was well after ten o'clock. Tom and Danny should have been back here by nine. So, where on earth were they? For the pair of them to be this late, and there be no word from Tom, something must have happened. But what?

Slowly, Sybil rose to her feet; walked the short distance over to the bay window where she drew back the curtains, only to be confronted, beyond the glass, by an impenetrable wall of grey mist, or as they called it over in far distant Yorkshire, a sea fret, which had swept in, as they often did at this time of year, from off the chill waters of Dublin Bay. With no word from Tom, the appearance of the fog instantly brought back memories of that terrible night in Florence some three months ago.

Fortunately, a minute or so later, Sybil heard footsteps, followed by the sound of voices that she recognised, the snick of Tom's key in the lock of the front door and, in the twinkling of an eye, both he and Danny were standing before her in the quiet and warmth of the sitting room.

"Oh, thank God! I was so worried. Where on earth have you been?" Sybil exclaimed, flinging her arms around Danny, hugging him to her, smothering his face with kisses.

While here in the Branson household the open showing of affection, whether between Tom and Sybil or else between them and their children, was of daily occurrence, nearly thirteen years old, Danny was at that awkward age; teetering as he was on the cusp of becoming a young man. And that self-consciousness now came to the fore.

"Oh, give over, Ma!"

Stung by Danny's reaction, painfully so, Sybil released her hold on her son, drew back. Caught sight of Tom looking on, evidently faintly amused.

"Why were ya so worried, Ma?" piped Danny.  
"Because I care, that's why! Though, sometimes, I begin to wonder why I bloody well bother!" exclaimed Sybil, plumping up the cushions on the sofa and then closing the curtains.

Tom realised there must be more to Sybil's sudden outburst than at first met the eye.

"Fair enough. Son, it's high time you were getting ready for bed. So, say goodnight to your Ma".

Danny nodded. Kissed his mother lightly on the cheek.

"Goodnight, Ma. Will ya look in when ya come up?"  
"Do you want me to?" Sybil asked.  
"For sure! Ya always do". Danny sounded surprised.

"So you're not too growed then". It was a statement on the part of his mother rather than a question but to Danny it sounded as if it were the latter.

"No, for sure!"

"Then, of course I will". Sybil smiled.

In the doorway, Danny turned.

"The talkie was grand, Da. Thanks again".

"My pleasure, son".

* * *

After Danny had gone upstairs to wash and change into his pyjamas - actually, in emulation of his beloved Da, into his vest and pyjama trousers, downstairs in the sitting room, seated on the sofa, Tom drew Sybil into his arms.

"Now, what was all that about?"

"I told you, I was worried, that's all".

"Really? Sybil, darlin' the train's been late before ... "  
"So that's why you were ..."

Tom nodded.  
"For sure. When it left Westland Row, it was on time, but then it was held up by the fog. Jaysus, it's like a pea-souper out there tonight!"

"Yes, that's just it".

"What is?"  
"The fog".  
" _The fog_?" Tom asked, clearly surprised.

Sybil nodded emphatically.

"Yes. When I woke and found you still weren't back, I went to look out of the window. Then I saw the fog. It reminded me ..."  
"Reminded ya? Of what?"  
"Of that night in Florence. When Danny and you ..."

For Tom the penny now dropped.

"Sybil, darlin', please! Fergal's dead".

"Yes, I know. Oh, don't mind me, I'm just being foolish".

Tom smiled.

"It's over and done with. Let it go. Promise me, now?"

"I promise". _Non Omnis ... Moriar._ Yes, that had been the words she had read.

"So ..."

"Non Omnis Moriar".

"What? What did you just say?"

"Non Omnis Moriar. It's Latin".

"For sure".

Sybil shook her head.

"But ... apart from some medical terms ... I don't know any Latin!"

"Then you must have read it somewhere".  
"Yes, I suppose I must have. Anyway, I'd better go and look in on Danny. Coming?"  
"In a moment - there's something I need to do first".

"Well, don't be too long". Sybil gave him a provocative backward glance over her shoulder.

"I won't".

* * *

After Sybil had gone, Tom went along the passage to his study.

While certainly not as grand as the library which had belonged to his late father-in-law, nonetheless, the room here in Idrone Terrace was in some ways like that at Downton in that it was lined from floor to ceiling with shelves, crammed with all manner of books. For several minutes Tom stood scanning the groaning shelves before he found the volume he wanted, _Odes By Horace_ , reached it down, took it with him to his desk, where he sat, skimming through its pages. Already tired - Sybil said he worked far too hard to which Tom had responded by saying that was rich coming from her - it was sleepy work, until that was, Tom found what he was seeking. Then sleep left him abruptly.

Yes, here it was ... _Non Omnis Moriar ..._

It was also the inscription, carved in granite, over the entrance porch of the derelict chapel down at Skerries House in County Cork.

 _I shall not entirely die._

* * *

 **Friedrich's Study, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

"The Ponte Vecchio," put in Friedrich, helpfully.

"Yes, that's right. The Ponte Vecchio. You remember, darling?" Sybil glanced sideways at Edith who promptly nodded.

"Yes, of course I do".

Edith found herself thinking back to that foggy night, scarce a year since, when, with the electricity out all over Florence, she had driven Matthew and Tom down into the city, to go in search of the man who had kidnapped darling Danny. At the time, they had, Edith recalled, taken a slightly circuitous route so as to avoid the police patrols ...

* * *

 **Florence, Italy, August 1932.**

 _The fog was everywhere, in the streets and in the squares where dank, eddying coils of mist crept silently and with a dogged persistence through the arches, along the colonnades and the loggias, drifted among the delicate wrought ironwork of the balconies and the louvred shutters of the buildings, swirling about the ornate fountains and the marble statues, beading all of them with droplets of moisture. Towards the river, the fog was thicker still, here swirling, wreath-like, up and down the Arno, over the parapets and beneath the arches of the many bridges, and among the moored barges and the gondolas, shrouding them in a dense, smoke-like haze of grey._

 _Along the darkened, fogbound streets they went, with the flames from the burning flambeaux set into iron holders at street corners, casting eerie, flickering shadows on the neighbouring walls. Eventually, after what seemed an age, in a narrow side street, close to the mist shrouded bulk of the Duomo, Edith drew the motor to a stop._

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

"So ..." Sybil lofted an inquisitive brow.

"Well, that's just it ..."  
"What is?" asked Sybil, immediately alert. There was something chilling here. Whatever it was, with all the children safe upstairs, it did not touch them. So, it could only have to do with ... Tom.

"Sybil, darling, I don't know how to tell you this. Tom's cousin ... second cousin ... he isn't dead".  
"Of course he is! When Matthew shot him, Tom told me he saw his cousin fall ... from off that bridge ... into the river".

"Maybe".  
"There's no _maybe_ about it. That's what happened".

"I don't doubt that what Tom told you is what he saw happen but, against all the odds, his second cousin is still very much alive".

Sybil shook her head emphatically.

"He can't be!"

"Darling, from what our Jewish friends told us it would seem that he is and, what is more, working for the Foreign Ministry of new Nazi government in Berlin".

"But that's not possible".

"I very much regret having to say so, but that's the truth of it".

Friedrich nodded.

"I think we can safely say that Tom's second cousin has more lives than the proverbial cat".

* * *

 **Rózsafa, Hungary, summer 1933.**

A matter of seconds later yet another high explosive shell whined overhead before it too found its target; hitting the ornate façade of the mansion, sending up an enormous shower of sparks along with a huge cloud of choking dust peppered with fragments of broken glass and shattered masonry. Pattering the three of them and everyone else in the vicinity with a hail of falling earth and stones; while, from somewhere close at hand, came the insistent staccato chatter of machine gun fire and the sporadic crack of rifle bullets. And from the inner courtyard, in the aftermath of the shelling, and only all too audible, the cries and screams of wounded men, along with barked commands and shouted orders.

Yet another shell - from out of the corner of his eye Matthew caught a glimpse of it, followed its lightning flight as it soared across the outer courtyard - exploded in a flash of flame, the detonation causing the ground to shake while at the same time engulfing the three of them in a sudden whirlwind of searing heat and dirt. This was followed by a whizz and a low menacing whine, there appearing suddenly, as if from out of nowhere, something gleaming and metallic, which stuck upright and quivering in the ruptured earth but inches from where Tom was lying; a broken piece of jagged steel, some eighteen inches long.

"Feckin' hell! Jaysus!" In a spray of scuffled gravel, Tom scrambled back against the side of the motor. There he sat bolt upright, staring disbelievingly at the glowing shard of metal.

In the confusion, Mary had lost her hat. Now, with her usually immaculate coiffure awry, her face ashen, she turned her head; took in the smouldering fragment of the shell casing.

"Oh, my God!"

* * *

There now came a sudden, unexpected lull in the fighting. The noise of the shelling and the shooting died away; the only sound now audible being the crackle and roar of the greedy flames as Rózsafa burned.

Keeping close to the side of the motor, hair tousled, face streaked with sweat and dirt, Matthew rose cautiously to his feet.

"Are both of you all right? Here, let me ..."" He helped Mary to her feet. "Tom, old chap, what about you?"

"Oh, grand, for sure!" replied Tom sarcastically. He grimaced; rose to his feet, and dusted himself down.

"I rather think that it's time we were making a move".

Tom ghosted a smile. The English were ever masters of the understatement, so much so that for them it was considered something of a past time.

However, they had waited too long. From out of the darkness there came a guttural voice.

"Hände hoch oder ich schieße!"

Mary and Tom were nonplussed; looked from one to the other.

"May I suggest," said Matthew, his tone matter-of-fact, "that we do as we've been told". He now raised both hands above his head in token of abject surrender, as two young soldiers, their rifles trained directly on the three people standing beside the motor, now emerged from out of the smoke-filled darkness.

* * *

While Mary and Tom did as Matthew had advised them to do, and raised their hands above their heads, Matthew indicated his wife's hat lying forlorn on the ground.

"Darf ich?"

* * *

Mary had not realised that Matthew spoke German. But then, was that really so surprising? Until very recently there had been a side of his life encompassing his _other activities_ on behalf of the British government, about which she had known nothing at all. When, earlier, she had baulked about leaving behind the greater part of their luggage, Matthew had said that clothes could be replaced; lives could not. Now here he was worrying about a hat; one of which she had never been particularly fond, partly because it had been bought for her by Edith, in the aftermath of Mary having saved Max's life. At the time Mary's head had been swathed in bandages, so the purchase of a hat for her, although well-intentioned, seemed singularly inappropriate. But that was Edith all over. Added to which, mauve was not a colour of which Mary was especially fond, while she thought the style did her no favours at all. So she was not unduly concerned about what became of the damned thing.

* * *

The soldier nodded.

"Danke schön". Matthew smiled thinly.

* * *

That nod was the last thing the young soldier ever did. At least in this life. For, as Matthew lowered his hands and bent down to retrieve Mary's hat, that seemingly innocent simple act served to conceal his true intentions. In the darkness, as his left hand closed on the fallen hat, in that very same instant from the pocket of his overcoat, with his right hand Matthew pulled out his Browning semi automatic pistol and shot the soldier dead. And too, before he even had time to register what it was that had happened to his compatriot, the other soldier too. In the split second before he fell, by the light of the flames from the burning mansion, speechless, Mary saw the knees of the second man buckle before a moment later he dropped noiselessly to the ground.

In the eerie silence that followed, without saying a word, Matthew calmly handed Mary her hat, then replaced his pistol back in his pocket. Stood gazing down, disdainfully, at the two bloodied corpses which, scarce a couple of minutes earlier, had been two living men.

* * *

Steeling himself to look at the two bodies, Tom saw that the first soldier had taken a shot directly between the eyes and the second a bullet in the chest. Both wounds had been fatal; from each of which a trickle of thick dark blood now oozed and which was already beginning to congeal.

During the Irish Civil War, while working as a reporter for the Independent, Tom had seen for himself the brutal aftermath of more than a score of bloody shootings, including some of those carried out by members of the new National Army in retaliation for what had happened to several of their comrades at Knocknagoshel in County Kerry in March 1923. But whether the perpetrators had been the IRA or the the forces of the nascent Free State, the result was all too predictable. Lives, often young, snuffed out in an instant, with mute, bullet ridden corpses left lying by the side of a quiet country road, the calm beauty of the last place on this earth the victims had seen belying the horror of what had happened there. For all that, Tom was appalled by what had just taken place. Nor could he comprehend Matthew's apparent sangfroid.

* * *

No less horrified than Tom, in telling silence Mary took the proffered, battered hat and promptly rammed it back on her head.

"How could you ..." she gasped, before swiftly turning her head away from contemplating the bodies of the two young soldiers. Knew that if she did not, she would be violently sick.

Matthew looked pityingly first at his wife and then at his brother-in-law. Two people he loved deeply. He shook his head; glanced at both of them again. How could he expect them to condone what he had just done? He supposed he could try to explain.

"Not that I expect you to understand but it was something I learned very quickly in the trenches. In such circumstances, it's either kill or be killed. Now, quick as you like, into the motor! And, Tom ..."  
"Yes?" Tom was monosyllabic; his reply toneless, devoid of any emotion. For the first time ever he could not bring himself to meet the other's gaze. All the same, he knew too that, however unpalatable it was, Matthew had spoken the truth of it.  
"No lights!"

"For sure!" Tom understood the sense in that too; wrenched open the passenger door. Stood in silence beside the car while Mary climbed in, followed swiftly by Matthew. Tom closed the door, clambered into the driving seat, turned the ignition and the engine purred into life. Releasing the handbrake, Tom put the motor into gear and pushed gently down on the accelerator. A moment later, the heavy car began moving smoothly forward. For better or for worse, come what may, they were off.

"Matthew, where are we going?"

"You'll see".

"Will I?" As Mary shrank back against the leather seat, she found herself wondering if any of them ever would.

* * *

Just as they reached the avenue, suddenly, from out of the darkness, off to the right, Tom caught sight of shadowy movement. Another soldier, his uniform all torn and bloodied, grabbed at the handle of the rear door of the motor and pulled hard. Its hinges well oiled, the door swung open. In the back of the car, as Mary huddled against his side, Matthew once more pulled out his pistol and shot the man dead who, as he fell backwards lifeless to the ground, with the fingers of one hand left a bloodied smear on the glass of the window. Impassively, Matthew reached across and slammed shut the door before calmly proceeding to reload his pistol.

"Keep driving!"

Catching sight of his friend's face, grimly resolute, in the rear view mirror, Tom made no reply; did as he had been told. Even without lights, for the time being at least, the fire from the burning mansion was sufficient by which to drive; would also, thought Tom, make the moving car a sitting target for anyone who chanced to be watching.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

"So, there you have it. And, there's more. Quite recently a high ranking Nazi official was despatched from Berlin to Budapest to meet with the Regent, Admiral Horthy. It turns out that emissary was none other than Tom's cousin. As to the nature of their discussions, the contact that Goldstein and his friends have there at the Royal Palacel could only say that it concerned a plot to oust the Admiral and which the government in Budapest was taking very seriously. While Goldstein's man was in the room within his hearing he heard mention made of an English nobleman who along with his wife, and brother-in-law were on a private visit to Hungary, at the invitation of a Hungarian aristocrat and his wife, in other words my cousin Manfred and his wife Eva, whom you met here at Rosenberg and who were, to some degree, involved in the plot to overthrow the Regent's government. That, by accident, Matthew, Mary, and Tom have become caught up in the conspiracy, this of course we knew already - hence, once we knew what was afoot, my telephone call to Conrad in Bucharest to help spirit the three of them away from Rózsafa out of harm's way and before things became ... How shall I put it? Awkward".

Sybil nodded.

"And?"

They knew, at least, thought they knew, that Conrad and his chum had left Roumania, were, if the information they had was correct, already on their way to Rózsafa but since then there had been no word and, as Friedrich had said, all they could do was to wait on events. If Wyss and Salvatore managed to make it through and land at Rózsafa before all hell broke loose then, Matthew, Mary, and Tom were in with a fighting chance of being plucked to safety in the nick of time but if not ... route

"Well, there's more news, and I'm afraid none of it is good. Apparently, the attack on the rebel forces, in and around a town called Szentes, began sooner than anticipated. At the same time an assault took place on What's become of all those there, including our own loved ones, God only knows. As far as Matthew,Mary, and Tom are concerned, pray God that Conrad and his chum reached there before the fighting began".

* * *

 **Rózsafa, Hungary, summer 1933.**

They were almost at the end of the avenue when, with the red glow from the blazing mansion now fading, the road became so dark that Tom, who had been driving along at a snail's pace, dared risking turning on the headlamps. It was just as well that he did, for, had he not done so, as he turned out of the drive, he would have driven full tilt into a bicyclist coming the other way; the machine likewise unlit. At the last minute, seeing the bicyclist careering towards him, Tom slammed his foot on the brake. Despite the slow speed at which they were travelling, the Maybach slewed violently to one side, before screeching to a halt with, in the process, Mary once again losing her much detested hat.

"Oh, hell and botheration! Sorry!"

Glancing in the rear view mirror, at the expression of annoyance registered on Mary's face, Tom chuckled.

"Don't mind me, milady!" Then, forgetting where they were, he hastily wound down the window, and stuck his head out into the darkness.

"Ya feckin' eejit!" he yelled.

In the light of the headlamps, those in the motor saw the bicyclist dismount and, having hurriedly leaned his machine against a tree, stride briskly towards the Maybach while from Rózsafa there came the sound of yet more shelling and rifle fire.

* * *

"To paraphrase, Mr. Stanley, Mr. Branson, I presume?"

"For sure!" Tom grinned.

"Tibor!"

He smiled warmly at Mary.

"Matthew, a word if you please". Matthew nodded; opened the door of the motor and climbed out.

"About what?"

"I'm afraid things haven't gone as we expected," Tibor said, before proceeding to explain what had happened but a short while ago out at the landing strip.

* * *

Disbelieving of what she was now hearing, Mary was aghast.

"You intended escaping from here by aeroplane? When you know how I feel about flying. And you didn't see fit to tell me?"  
"Only because, my darling, I knew precisely how you would react if I had told you earlier. Anyway, as things stand, that's no longer an option. All we can do now is to make a dash for the border in the motor. Are you up for that, Tom?"

Tom turned in his seat.

"Do I have a choice?"  
"No, none at all".  
"Then, for sure". Tom grinned.

* * *

"Now," said Tibor, when once more they were under way, standing beside Tom on the running board and riding shotgun, "when I tell you to, stop the motor".  
"Why?"  
"Because there are rebel soldiers, manning a barricade across the road at the bridge. I almost ran into them myself on my way to find you. Understandably, given what's happening, they're rather nervous. Besides which the bridge itself has been mined; to be blown just as soon as all those of their comrades who make good their escape from Rózsafa are safely across. In the circumstances, I don't want to take the risk of you being shot or blown to pieces".

"How very kind!" This from Mary.

"My pleasure!" Tibor laughed, as he had done, a lifetime ago, or so it seemed, when he had driven them down to the Arizona nightclub in distant Budapest.

* * *

 **Later, somewhere southeast of** **Rózsafa.**

Just before they reached the bridge, Tom did as Tibor instructed, slowing the motor and brought it to a stand; sat tight and waited while Tibor went to speak to the soldiers. Saw the improvised barricade hastily pulled aside before being beckoned forward. Then, in a trice they were over the bridge and on the other side, waiting for Tibor to re-join them. A moment later he did but by his expression something was clearly wrong.

"Matthew, do you know anything about fuses?"

"After three years spent on the Western Front, I should damned well think so!" Matthew ghosted a smile. "Why?"

"Because there's a problem with the explosives".

* * *

At the barn, hearing voices, the heavy doors being opened, Micky froze before pulling Dévaj with him and burrowing deeper into the pile of straw in the hay loft. It was that simple act that betrayed him; a gentle whisper of straw descending on the heads of the government soldiers searching the building below.

* * *

"What kind of problem?"  
"It seems the sappers who laid the charges didn't quite finish the job and none of those left guarding the bridge knows a thing about explosives; nor for that matter how to defend their position in the event of it coming under attack; which, I suppose, is hardly surprising".  
"Oh? Why's that?"

"Most of them are local militia, some little more than boys, and all of them scared half to death".

"Then, it would seem there's no time for wasting".

"Quite so". Tibor nodded emphatically.

* * *

Faced with a military problem, as a former serving British officer, Matthew now spoke crisply and to the point, as if what Tibor and he were about to undertake was of routine, daily occurrence.

"Yes. Tom can drive Mary to the barn. From what you said earlier, it should be easy enough to find. They can wait for us there. Now, let me see. While I sort out the charges, if in the meantime an attack should be launched on the bridge, it would have to come from the direction of Rózsafa itself. You said that the stream isn't deep but the sides of it are heavily scarped?"

"Yes. Very steep, and muddy too".  
"Good. If I can't organise the defence of a bridge without first blowing it to kingdom come - we can save that for the encore - I should be broken to the ranks!"

As Matthew opened the door of the motor, he felt Mary's hand on his arm.

While she did not believe in omens, nor in portents, viewed the recent obsession in England with spiritualism as so much codswallop - she left that kind of nonsense to Edith - nonetheless, Mary had the most awful premonition of impending disaster. Recalled she had experienced something like it once before at Downton, during the Great War, at the time Matthew had been wounded.

"Darling, for my sake, don't do this".

Turning to look at his wife, Matthew shook his head; gently removed her restraining hand.

"I have to".

"But why?"

"Because of what Tibor's done for us. I owe it to him to try and help".

"Noblesse oblige?"

"If you like, but rather than any vainglorious sense of duty, with me it's a matter of honour".

Mary nodded. That she could understand.

"Your honour and I love you all the more for it". Her eyes glistened.

For his part, Tom was no less moved. From where he was sitting, he now reached over and placed a hand on Matthew's shoulder.

"Remember what I told you, back in Budapest?"  
Matthew nodded.

"I remember".

"Then I'm coming with you".

"And just what do you know about explosives?"

Tom shook his head.

"Nothing at all".

Matthew smiled at his brother-in-law.

"Thank you, but no, Tom," he said gently. "Tibor and I will see to the blowing of the bridge. Now, please, for Mary's sake, and for mine, do as I've asked you".

* * *

All things considered, Tom thought they had been remarkably lucky; had managed to escape from the horror that was now Rózsafa and, even if the chance of making good their escape by aeroplane had eluded them, then the border, and safety, lay but half a dozen miles distant.

* * *

Having turned off the road, it was as he brought the Maybach to a stand in the clearing by the barn that Tom realised they had blundered. Spectacularly so. For, but a moment later, they had found themselves surrounded by soldiers loyal to Hungary's Regent and then ordered out of the motor at gunpoint. As the two of them stood wondering what was to happen, it was with a distinct sense of shock, Mary caught sight of a dishevelled young Micky Waldstein sitting forlornly on a tree stump and, beside him, his dog, Dévaj.

There was someone else there too, standing in the shadows: a German officer in the uniform of the SS.

* * *

Tibor had been right about the soldiers. Some of them looked to be no older than either Danny or Robert; all of them raw recruits, and clearly terrified. Having given instructions as to their deployment which Tibor relayed in Hungarian to the sole remaining NCO, and thence to the soldiers themselves, having finished surveying the wiring of the explosives, shaking his head in disbelief, Matthew turned to Tibor.

"How old is all this stuff?" he asked, pointing to the string of charges strung out below the curved arch of the bridge.

Tibor shrugged.

"I've no idea. Probably left over from the war".

"In which case ... God in Heaven! Take cover!"

* * *

"As for the boy and his feckin' dog, do I have to spell it out for yous?" Fergal drew his hand sideways swiftly across his throat. "Shoot them!"

"No!" screamed Mary, which only earned her a vicious cuff across the mouth.

"Shut the feck up!"

The savagery and unexpectedness of the blow knocked Mary off balance, sending her reeling, and she fell to the ground.

Tom was horrified; did his best to struggle free of his captors, to go to her aid, but to no avail.

With a thin trickle of blood oozing from one corner of her mouth, ever so slowly, Mary picked herself up from off the wet grass; stood impassive, as if carved out of granite.

"Mary! Are ya ..."

Almost imperceptibly, Mary shook her head.

"It's all right, Tom," she murmured softly.

Tom rounded on Fergal.

"Ya feckin' shite! I'll see ya pay for that! By Christ, I will!" yelled Tom,

"Really? And just how do ya intend doing that?"

"At least let the boy go free!"

Fergal appeared to give that matter some thought before shaking his head.

"No. I think not".

The last Mary and Tom saw of Micky was the boy, his arms now pinioned securely, being pushed along none too gently by a solider while another dragged Dévaj behind him on his lead. The pitiful little cavalcade disappeared out of sight. A moment or two later, from out of the darkness, there came the sound of two shots.

Then silence.

* * *

Fergal swung round on his heel.

"Now, just what the feck do I do with yous two?"

Fergal had not forgotten that it was Matthew Crawley who had been responsible for the injury sustained to his shoulder in Florence. A year later, despite treatment in the best military hospital in Berlin, the wound still caused him trouble and it remained to be seen if he would ever regain the full use of his left arm. That being so, there was a blood debt owing; one which, when the opportunity arose, Fergal had every intention of claiming in full.

For the moment he stood staring at Mary who disdained even to meet his impertinent gaze. Enraged, Fergal grabbed her hard by the chin, forcing Mary to look at him. However, this did not have quite the outcome he had intended for, Fergal was slightly shorter than Mary, and he found himself having to look up at her, only to find his gaze met by a smouldering stare of both contempt and derision. There was something else there too, which Fergal had not expected to see and which, once he realised what it was, angered him still further: pity. Well, he would see about wiping that look off her face.

"Who would have thought Lady Grantham would end her days earning her keep whoring for a rabble of common soldiery". Letting go of Mary, Fergal nodded to the group of men standing close by. "Spoils of war. Do with her as you will".

* * *

Fergal motioned to the two holding Tom, who now forced him to his knees, whereupon Fergal pulled his Luger pistol from its black leather holster and pointed it directly at Tom's forehead.

"Any last request? Not even a message for your soon-to-be widow? No? How very disappointing".

 **Author's Note:**

Skerries - Skerries House - in my stories the ancestral home of the Bransons down in County Cork, Ireland.

For what happened to Danny in Florence, see the last two chapters of _The Rome Express_.

While Sybil probably didn't mind, Edith's choice of novel was not very up to date - _The_ _Mysterious Affair at Styles_ had been published in 1921.

During the Irish Civil War, five soldiers of the new Irish National Army were killed by a booby trap bomb at Baranarigh Wood, Knocknagoshel, County Kerry. This incident provoked a series of bloody reprisals, including that at Ballyseedy where Free State troops tortured a group of local men before tying them to a landmine, detonating it, and machine-gunning the survivors.

Pea-souper: a very thick, yellowish, greenish fog containing particles of soot and the poisonous gas, sulphur dioxide, caused by the burning of coal on domestic fires and in industry.

In the 1920s, in the aftermath of the Great War, spiritualism became very popular in Great Britain, until many mediums were subsequently exposed as frauds.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty Five

The Darkest Hour

 **North of Rózsafa, Hungary, summer 1933.**

As the Junkers soared away from the landing strip and off into the fiery blackness of the sky, even though they were nowhere near the 22,000 feet to which the 'plane could climb, here in the half open cockpit, Salvatore had to shout to try and make himself heard above the rushing roar of the wind. When that proved futile, he resorted to hand signals in order to make Wyss understand that, surely, they should try and attempt another landing?

Initially, Wyss was completely disbelieving, shook his head, pressed on northwards, but in the end he relented. Indicated his agreement by a curt nod. Even if Conrad was singularly unaware of what Friedrich had told Edith and Sybil about his undoubted skills as a pilot, all of it was true enough. During the Great War, Conrad had managed to land aircraft safely in far worse conditions than those now prevailing at Rózsafa, several times under shell fire, and managed to live to tell the tale. Besides which, he owed a debt of gratitude to Friedrich for, in part, helping smooth his path with the Roumanian authorities when he had first arrived in Bucharest.

""Fuel flow is good, oil temperature is good ... Well then, we'd best be about it!" yelled Conrad with a oil flecked grin and to which Salvatore responded by giving him a double thumbs up with his gloved hands.

Conrad steered the Junkers firmly to port, beginning the turn which would eventually take them back over Rózsafa, and so thence to the landing strip. With dawn having now broken, they had no need of lighted bonfires with which to find it. Soon they were heading south, where in the distance both could see that the sky had turned a smoky red as, somewhere, far below, Rózsafa burned. But then, suddenly, although not unexpectedly, given what had happened before, once again the engine coughed, spluttered, and died. As he had done earlier, Conrad made several attempts to restart it but this time without success.

Starved of power, once again, the Junkers rapidly began losing height. That in itself did not concern Conrad unduly. On this daredevil journey, somewhat to his surprise, he had found that the F13 handled much like a glider so, even without power, here, away from the mountains, if only they could make the landing strip, then they were in with a chance; provided of course that when they came into land they could bring the plane to a stand.

It had been built without brakes.

* * *

 **Somewhere southeast of Rózsafa about the same time.**

 _Plop! Swish, swish, swish._

Here, down below the arch of the bridge, of all of them, Matthew alone recognised the sounds immediately for what they were.

And, more importantly, for what they heralded.

"Take cover everyone!"

Quite what the young Hungarian recruits made of an unknown, middle class Englishman, masquerading, at least as Matthew saw it, as a member of the English aristocracy, dressed in mufti, giving them orders, in a language most of them did not even understand, was anyone's guess. However, at Matthew's hurriedly shouted warning, repeated swiftly in Hungarian by Tibor, at the bridge, everybody scrambled to find whatever shelter they could.

In reality, this did not amount to very much, owing to the fact that here on the southern bank of the stream, in among the encroaching trees which stretched right down to the water's edge, the hastily excavated trenches had, for the most part, not been dug nearly deep enough and were only but lightly protected owing to there having been being insufficient time to dig further down, as well as there being a distinct shortage of sandbags with which to construct the necessary protecting parapets. This being the case all some of the young soldiers could do, to try and afford themselves a measure of protection, was to huddle together on the ground, clutching their helmets to their heads with their bare hands.

By an incredible stroke of good fortune the incoming mortar shell fell short; landing in the middle of the stream where it exploded in a white flash and a deafening roar, in the process sending up a torrent of filthy water, along with a cloud of dirt and stones. But, other than frightening the life out of most of the young recruits, thankfully it caused no casualties.

Almost immediately a second mortar shell whined overhead, everyone taking cover again before it too exploded which, having overshot the little bridge, it did some distance away among the trees, and so once more resulting in no injuries among the defenders. However, it was exceedingly doubtful if they would all be so lucky a third time or thereafter.

"Range finding," observed Matthew grimly as he rose to his feet, dusting the spattered dirt from off of his clothes. Reflected once again on what an incongruous sight he must present to those gathered here, all of whom, save for Tibor, were looking to him, in equal measure, for both leadership and reassurance. As to whether he could provide them with either, only time would tell. And, in more ways than one, time was not on their side. Decidedly so.

"Either that, or else, with a bit of luck, they don't know we're here," observed Tibor drily.  
"Oh, they know we're here, all right!" Matthew grimaced his distaste at the turn of events.

As if to confirm the truth of his remark, in the lingering darkness, from the covert of trees on the opposite side of the bridge, there now came the sharp crack of rifles, the fire from which was concentrated on the handful of defenders occupying the most exposed position of all: those keeping their heads down behind the makeshift barricade placed across the road at the far end of the bridge; the bullets smacking and stinging into the earth, sending up spiralling columns of dry mud. Even though Matthew had given orders that the barricade should be reinforced, and that a similar defensive position be erected at the other end of the bridge, once again both a shortage of materials and time enough in which to complete the necessary works had served to conspire against them. The rebel soldiers were forced to shelter behind several fallen tree trunks and a lattice weave of large branches with which the first barricade had been hurriedly strengthened while those in the scrape of a trench nearest the stream fared little better; found themselves just as exposed, pinned down by the enfilading rifle fire coming from among the brake of trees crowding the opposite bank.

Close to where Matthew and Tibor were sitting huddled beneath the arch of the bridge there came the ping of a stray bullet, which ricocheted off the stonework, and then fell harmlessly on the ground at their feet whereupon the two men exchanged nervous glances.

"Snipers!"

"Yes, indeed. See that everyone continues to keep their heads down. At least for the moment".

Tibor nodded and called out to the defenders to do exactly as Matthew had ordered.

Through Tibor, Matthew also instructed that, for the present, no return fire should be given in order so as not to betray their own positions but also to conserve what little ammunition they possessed. After all, until the light improved, there was no earthly point wasting precious bullets shooting at ghosts. More importantly still not returning fire would serve to disguise just how pitifully few of them there were left to hold the bridge as they had been ordered to do for as long as possible, so as to give those of their compatriots, the ones lucky enough somehow to have managed to escape the inferno that was now Rózsafa, some chance, however slim that might be, of a means of escape.

"Not very accurate, are they!" exclaimed Tibor, as a third mortar overshot the defenders while the next, to judge by the racket it made, landed somewhere just above their heads, on the surface of the bridge, where it lay fizzing and spluttering, midway between the two makeshift barricades, but thankfully then failed to detonate. Whereupon, unbeknown to both Matthew and Tibor, one of the militia, braver than the rest of his mates, not to say foolhardy, without a thought for his own safety, ran over, picked up the dud and lobbed it as far as he could throw it downstream of the bridge. But wherever finally the shell came to rest, it still failed to explode.

"Agreed, but all the same, they're managing to keep us pinned down. It's a pity we can't do the same!"

"If only we could find some way of silencing that damned mortar!"

"Silence it ... Or perhaps ... even capture it".

"Capture it? But how on earth ... That would mean crossing the stream, and there's no way over save for this bridge".

It was at this point that one of the young soldiers, the sole remaining NCO, a corporal, a lad from off the estate, who to Matthew's practised eye looked hardly old enough to shave, but who, as it now transpired, had some English, piped up. Explained rapidly in Hungarian, translated for Matthew's benefit just as quickly by Tibor, that there was another way across, a short way downstream. Above a weir, there was a narrow, plank footbridge - unless, of course, it had been destroyed but that he thought to be unlikely. Added to which, in all likelihood, the Regent's troops, not being native to this part of the country, probably didn't even know of its existence.

"Well, if it hasn't been destroyed, then it bloody well needs to be! And the sooner the better. Otherwise we'll find ourselves being outflanked". Matthew paused; ghosted a smile. Spoke seemingly to himself. "C'mon Crawley, what on earth's the matter with you? Yes, of course!" He looked up. "What's to stop us making use of it ourselves?"

"You mean we could ..."  
"Cross over the stream by the footbridge, that is assuming it's still there. Then circle round them and come at the mortar party from the rear before any of their reinforcements arrive". Matthew nodded. "Yes, it might just work".

"It's rabbit-brained enough to do so! Isn't that what you English say ... if something sounds madcap?"

Matthew laughed.

"Actually, it's hare-brained. As in the animal, h-a-r-e".

"Ah! Hare-brained, then".  
Matthew nodded.

"Then, we'd best get on with it! I think you should stay here".

"Are you giving me an order, old boy?" Matthew chuckled.

Tibor grinned.

"No, of course not. Hardly that. In any case, how could I? After all, you hold the same rank".

"Indeed. But you're a serving officer and I'm long since retired! Anyway, we won't split hairs over it. That's h-a-i-r-s!"

Tibor laughed.

"Thank you for the spelling lesson. Retired or not, all of us here are most grateful for your assistance".

"Think nothing of it. My pleasure!"

"No, it was merely a suggestion," replied Tibor, becoming serious once again. "All the same, I'm sure you'll agree that one of us must stay". Matthew nodded. There was no need for Tibor to explain further when it was patently obvious to the both of them that, when the fighting here started in earnest, at the very first opportunity, most, if not all of those present, would turn tail and run.

"And, in case it's escaped your attention, I speak Magyar. You don't! Now, if I'm right, the mortar itself will be quite light. Is that so?"

"Yes. No more than a few pounds".

"Then a couple of lads should suffice ..." Tibor saw the corporal who had told them of the existence of the footbridge look at him in anticipation, presumably of being asked to go along and show Tibor the whereabouts of the footbridge. But in this he was disappointed. Tibor shook his head; said quickly that, with his knowledge of English, however slight that might be, he was needed here, to do his best to help translate Matthew's orders.

"So, tell me again now, exactly where is the footbridge?"

Tibor listened intently while the NCO told him how to find it. That done, Tibor called for a couple of volunteers to go with him. After a moment's hesitation, during which time Tibor found himself wondering if he would have to go it alone, two of the militia stepped forward. Having explained what it was they were shortly to be about, keeping low, Tibor rose cautiously to his feet.

"Well then, wish me luck!"

"If wishes were horses ..."  
Tibor gave a hollow laugh.

"Do you know, I said the very same thing to young Micky Waldstein, not a couple of hours since".  
"Did you now?"

"Indeed. And when he asked me what I meant by it, I told Micky to ask you to explain it to him, the next time you met".

"I see". Matthew glanced backwards over his right shoulder, towards where the white ribbon of the road curved away leading towards the old barn and thence to the landing strip. Seeing the look on Matthew's face, Tibor knew instantly what his friend must be thinking.

"Matthew, don't worry. They'll be all right. That is if Tom hasn't managed to drive the motor into a ditch or get himself lost! Once at the barn, they'll be safe enough. All three of them. We'll join them there ... just as soon as the business here is done".

"Yes, of course ..." Matthew swallowed hard. Became practical again. "Now, to other matters, how will I know ..."  
"When we've achieved our objective?"

Matthew nodded.

Tibor tapped the muzzle of the brass flare pistol stuck into the belt of his trousers.

"Assuming everything goes according to plan, I'll send up a green flare. Now, I think it best if we make our way back here by the shortest route possible. That means, once we have the mortar, making a dash for it across the bridge. So, we'll need all the covering fire you can give".

Matthew nodded.

"Once I see your flare, you'll will. Every blasted shot we have".

"Hopefully not quite all! Now, I think I'd better explain what's going to happen to the NCO. Covering fire is one thing. That said, I don't want those at the barricade taking potshots at us on our return. Not after we've gone to all the trouble of bringing you back a mortar!"

"You sound very confident - I mean - that you'll get it!"

"Well ... you know me!" Tibor grinned.

"Yes, and that's what worries me!"

"We'll be all right. Now ..."

* * *

While Tibor explained to the NCO about the mortar, so that he could, in turn, then tell those at the barricade what to expect, Matthew looked up at the arch of the bridge and, seeing again beneath it the tangled web of wires and explosive charges, he sighed.

"Yes, I've told him what's happening," said Tibor, now watching as the NCO, keeping low, zig-zaged his way across the bridge, towards the further of the two barricades.

"While you're gone, I'll see what, if anything, I can do to try and improve the wiring of those explosives". Matthew caught sight of the box detonator lying abandoned on the ground. "Hell and damnation! That hasn't even been connected!"

"So, all the more reason then for you to stay behind! Something else for you to see to while we're off after the mortar!"

"Perhaps".

Tibor held out his hand.

"The very best of luck!"

At this, Matthew himself had to smile. Tibor was always very much the Englishman. It was almost as if he was going out to open the batting at Lords, as opposed to what in fact was the reality of their situation. Caught up in the aftermath of a failed coup, pinned down by enemy fire on the banks of a muddy stream, in what, at least for Matthew, was a foreign country. Nonetheless, having nothing to lose by doing so, Matthew played along.

"And the same to you".

The two men shook hands.

A moment later, going off in search of the footbridge, Tibor and the two volunteers disappeared out of sight among the grove of alder and willow bordering the bank of the stream, their presence there swallowed up by the thicket of the enshrouding trees.

For a moment, Matthew sat back against the stonework of the bridge. Save for doing what he could with the explosives and then connecting them to the detonator, all both he and the rest of them could do was wait on the outcome of events.

As others were now doing.

Some a long way from here.

And some ... a very great deal closer at hand.

* * *

 **Landing strip, Rózsafa, sometime later** **.**

Now that the moment had come for the settling of old scores, ones which, as Fergal saw it, were long overdue, he found did not feel as he had thought he would. Had he been asked to explain just how he did feel, he would have found it difficult, if not impossible, to say. The elation he had expected was simply not there. One thing he did know. It had all been far too easy, like ripe apples dropping from a tree; Branson and the Crawley slut, along with that boy and his blasted dog in tow, falling into his hands the way they had. There was, of course, still the reckoning yet to come with Crawley himself, but for all that Fergal could not help thinking that somehow he had miscalculated.

Maybe not.

Now that the ruddy boy and his blasted dog had been silenced, with the Regent's troops left to deal with Csáky, there remained, presently, the other two.

As Fergal cocked his pistol, and took deliberate aim at Tom, the soldier standing closest to Mary leered insolently, reached forward and pulled off her hat which he threw to the ground. His hands moved to the front of her coat.

Not that Tom saw Fergal, for all that he was looking right at him. Instead, images of Sybil and the children flashed through his mind.

And then ...

* * *

 **Friedrich's study, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, earlier the same night.**

"And if they don't reach there in time, what then?" Sybil asked.

"Well ... let's wait and see. After all no news is good news. Isn't that what you say?"

Sybil nodded her head. She knew Friedrich was only being kind; doing the utmost he could to try and bolster all their spirits.

"Yes, but I don't believe it". Sybil rose to her feet. "I think I'd better go and look in on the boys again". Not that she thought it to be really necessary,although knowing Danny, Rob, and Max, it might be just as well if she did, Sybil knew that she could not sit here and mope. She had to keep busy. On reaching the door she paused; turned her head. "And please, both of you, not a word to Danny about Tom's cousin still being alive".

"No, of course not," said Edith softly.

* * *

After Sybil had gone, Edith likewise rose to her feet; stood looking down at Friedrich.

"Tell me, honestly now, what **are** their chances?"

Friedrich looked up at her then shook his head.

"Edith, I'm not a betting man. And, even if I were ..." Then, seeing the look on his wife's face, Friedrich relented. "Very well. If Conrad and his chum don't make it there and pluck them all to safety before the fighting starts, then I rate their chances no higher than the likelihood of the diminutive Herr Dolfuss managing to live out the year. But for God's sake, don't tell Sybil that I told you so".

Edith gasped.

"No, I won't".

Friedrich sighed.  
"Sometimes, my dear, it's best to cling to hope; however forlorn that belief may be, and especially so when, in reality, all hope is gone. But even if, somehow, they manage to come out of this unscathed, then I very much fear ..."  
"Fear what?"

"That Horthy's government will seek to make an example of all of them. Matthew, especially so. If not for his position, then on account of his other activities".

" _Other activities_? What on earth do you mean?"

"Ah, when I told both you and Sybil, what I had learned from Goldstein and his friends at the Café Jakob, about the plot to overthrow the Regent of Hungary and place the young Crown Prince on the vacant throne and all that entailed, and why. That those plotting against Horthy and his government would need foreign agreement to what they envisaged. How there was no better way to secure that approval than by enlisting the support of the British Establishment and that by involving a British peer of the realm, well known both for his liberal views, as well as his commitment to the League of Nations. At the same time seeking out the goodwill of an equally respected and well known Deputy Editor of a prominent Irish newspaper, and by extension, the British Press, in giving favourable coverage to what was intended?"

Edith nodded.

"Yes, I remember ..."

"Well, there was something else which, at the time, I didn't tell you, partly because I thought it would have made both of you, Sybil especially, even more worried".

Edith sat down hard on the sofa opposite her husband.

"Whatever it is, it's important that you're telling me now". Edith leaned forward. "So, what is it?"

"Well, I'd heard it rumoured before, but from what Goldstein let slip, it seems that it's all true enough". Friedrich paused. Ominously so.

"What is?" whispered Edith.

While she herself was not easily frightened, here in the Drawing Room, as the silence lengthened, she felt the cold finger of fear stab insistently at the base of her spine. Whatever this was, Friedrich was clearly uneasy about divulging it. Else, why would he have concealed it? And which only served to make Edith even more uneasy. Equally, while he might have felt it right and proper not to tell Sybil, as Friedrich's wife, she had a right to know.

"Friedrich, darling, you can't just leave it there. What precisely do you mean?  
"There's no easy way of saying this ..."  
"Friedrich, please just tell me!"

"Very well then. The truth of it is ... that Matthew ... is a spy".

"A what?"  
"A secret agent; in the service of His Majesty's Government".  
"But that's utterly ridiculous. He can't be!"  
"I didn't believe it at first. But I very much fear that he is. After all, it makes perfect sense ..."  
"What does? Friedrich, in case it has escaped you, this is reality. Matthew's not some kind of Richard Hannay". Edith paused. "A spy? Is he? Really?"

Friedrich nodded.

"I very much fear that he is. And, if they are minded to do so, that the authorities in Budapest could charge him with being one".

"I don't see ..."  
"How?"  
"Exactly so. As I said, Matthew's no Richard Hannay. He's far too ..."

"Far too what?"

"Far too ... unassuming". For a moment Edith found herself wondering what, if she had been here, Mary would have had to say on the matter. Probably she would have been lost for words. No, on second thoughts, that wasn't so. Never, not even as a child, had Mary ever been lost for words. In any case, were she here now, then doubtless they wouldn't be having the conversation they were.

"I agree but that's just it".

"What is?"

"First things first. I think a far better analogy would be to compare Matthew with Sir Percy Blakeney in _The Scarlet Pimpernel"._

"If you say so, although I haven't seen Matthew rescuing members of the French aristocracy from Madame La Guillotine".

"No, that's not quite what I meant".

"What then?"

"Well, think about it for a moment. There is Matthew, a fully paid up member of the British Establishment ..."  
"Only by adoption. After all if Cousin Patrick hadn't drowned when the _Titanic_ went down ..."  
"Whether by birth or, as you put it, _by adoption_ , Matthew is now one of the premier members of the British aristocracy. A lawyer and, from what I have read of some of the speeches he has given to the League in Geneva, a gifted orator. Someone who has a finely tuned grasp of what is taking place on the European stage; perhaps even more so than dearest Tom. Yet despite all of that, Matthew chooses to hide his light under the proverbial bushel and perhaps with very good reason. After all what better disguise for a spy than someone who while being undeniably charming, erudite, and urbane, chooses to present to the world the image of someone who is unassuming even diffident. A bland manner may conceal an active mind. Why, it's the perfect foil for his _other activities_ ".

"Yes, I do begin to see what you mean. But Mary always says Matthew's so middle class".

"Yes, I know she does. Maybe he is. And, when all is said and done, is that such a bad thing to be? After all, the middle classes are the backbone of the British Empire".

At that Edith had to smile; she doubted very much Mary would agree with Friedrich's analysis.

"But if what you believe to be the case is actually true, if Mary ever finds out, she'll be livid".

"I've a private notion, I may be wrong of course, that she knows already".

"Why?"

"Oh, just a hunch on my part; nothing more than that. But humour me. Assuming you're right and I'm wrong, and Mary doesn't know, why would she be livid?"

"Knowing Mary as you do, I think you know the answer to that already. She does so like to be one step ahead of everyone else. That Matthew kept something like this from her ... Well, I wouldn't like to be in his shoes when she finds out. Unless, as you say, she knows about it already".

"Not unless it became absolutely necessary for her to be told, I don't think he ever admit it to anyone, even if it was true. So, a real life Sir Percy Blakeney. What could be a better disguise?"

"You're serious, aren't you?"

Friedrich nodded.  
"Never more so".

* * *

 **Upstairs, Rosenberg, the same time.**

"So, is there any news, Ma?" asked Danny, with his arms still fast around his mother.

Sybil paused; slowly shook her head. Wiping her eyes, a moment later she broke free.

"No, darling, nothing more". It was a lie of course, but then how could she possibly tell him about ... "Now, and more to the point, why are you three out of bed again?"

"Well, we ..." began Rob.

"Yes?"

"We wanted to see how Danny was, Aunt Sybil". Beside him, Max nodded his head in agreement.

"Ja," he said.

Not that Sybil believed them; something was afoot, but she was bone weary and hadn't the heart to argue. Besides which she knew, as did they all, just how close the three boys were and given what they were all going through, it was understandable that, more than ever, they would want to be together. If the very worst happened, while she and the children faced a life without Tom, then Robert, Simon, and little Rebecca would be left orphaned. And Sybil had been very much impressed with the way in which Robert had behaved ever since he, along with Danny, Saiorse, and Max had been told something of what was afoot in Hungary. After all, keeping something like that all to himself, at the age Robert was, and not being able to share it with anyone, not even Simon, couldn't be easy.

"Very well. Five more minutes, no more, while I'm looking in on Saiorse, and then back to bed, all of you".

"Thanks, Aunt Sybil". Robert grinned.

Leaving the boys standing in the corridor by the door to Danny's bedroom, without so much as a backwards glance, Sybil walked off down the passage.

* * *

Once inside Danny's bedroom, and with the door firmly closed, Danny now sitting cross-legged on his bed and with Rob and Max seated at the foot, the boys held a hurried Council of War as to what they should say, if anything at all, about the business of the black dog. The general consensus seemed to be that since Saiorse had, apparently, come to no real harm, that they should say nothing. Of course there still remained the problem of replacing Max's father's fishing rod from whence it came, but that would have to wait until a suitable opportunity presented itself.

"Do you think Aunt ... I mean your Ma ... believed me ... when I said about us wanting to see how you were?" asked Rob.

"For sure, she did!" Danny winked conspiratorially at Max "There, now, Max, what did I tell ya, like? T'ick as a feckin plank!"

It was not a nice thing to say about anyone; certainly not about one's own mother but, nonetheless, Max giggled.

* * *

For, amongst the many things that Danny and Rob had told him, including that it was not Father Christmas, nor indeed, as here in Austria, Sankt Nikolaus, who brought presents for you at Christmas but your parents, was the fact that grown ups didn't know everything. And sometimes, at least according to Danny, they could be _t'ick as a_ _feckin' plank_. At the time of this startling pronouncement, made soon after Max had begun to walk again, the three boys had been sitting side by side, out in the sunshine, on a wall in the courtyard at Rosenberg.

"T... t'ick as ... a feck ... feckin' pl... plank?" repeated Max hesitantly. "What's a plank?" he asked. He had not heard the word before.

"A piece of wood," explained Rob.

"Ah! Dankeschön. _T'ick as a feckin' plank_ ," repeated Max slowly, before storing the phrase away in his memory for future use. Not that he supposed either dearest Papa or darling Mama would ever prove to be _as t'ick as a feckin' plank,_ but, of course, one never knew.

* * *

 **Somewhere southeast of Rózsafa, Hungary, later that same night.**

" _Come on, come on!_ " Matthew urged silently.

And then, suddenly there it was, the signal he had been waiting for. A green flare, that bathed all below in its eerie, pale light.

"Now, covering fire to both the sides of the road!" yelled Matthew.

The young NCO repeated his order and at once from those on the barricade there came volley upon volley of shots, peppering the trees on the other side of the stream, some of which, more by luck than design, judging by the screams that followed, found their targets, not least because until now with there having been no return fire, the riflemen on the far bank had grown careless of their own safety. The unexpectedness of the attack sent them scurrying for cover and, as they did so, those at the far end of the bridge now saw three figures running towards them, pounding down the road for all they were worth and bringing with them the much prized mortar.

As Tibor and the two others were now let through the barricade, a ragged cheer went up. It transpired that they had come at the mortar party from the rear. Surprise had been total, the two men firing the mortar being knocked unconscious rather than shot so as to avoid alerting their fellows as to what was happening.

Along the narrow road there now came others. Singly, in twos, and in threes, some of them wounded, half a dozen or so all of whom had been lying low in the woods, awaiting their chance to try and reach those holding the bridge against the forces loyal to the Regent. All were refugees from the assault on the kastély but, with only a couple of orderlies and a pitiful amount of medical supplies, little could be done for those who were wounded.

From what could be gleaned from the refugees if Rózsafa had not yet fallen, it soon would but what had become of both Manfred and Eva none seemed to know. And, while the theft of the mortar meant that, at least for now, those here at the bridge no longer found themselves under shell fire, the little raiding party had managed to bring away with them only a few rounds so, perforce, the newly acquired mortar had to be used sparingly.

* * *

After the arrival of the refugees, for a while, here at the bridge nothing further happened. An ominous silence descended and a purgatory of anxious waiting began until the arrival of a detachment of the Regent's troops; infantry in their grey green uniforms who took up their positions on the far side of the bridge. Through his binoculars Matthew observed that they were setting up both a machine gun and another mortar to replace the one which they had lost to Tibor's surprise sortie. Shortly thereafter, with dawn now having broken, Matthew and Tibor saw a white flag being hoisted aloft.

"That's jolly decent of them, offering to surrender," observed Matthew with a chuckle.

Tibor glanced sideways at his friend; shook his head in disbelief. Oft betimes he found the English sense of humour to be totally unfathomable. So, up on the Fisherman's Bastion in Budapest it had come as no surprise to him to learn from Mary how she found Matthew and Tom's jokes completely unintelligible.

"I rather think that they want to parlay," observed Tibor drily. A moment later and a voice in Magyar confirmed his assumption. The other side were sending over an officer and a private under a flag of truce.

Matthew nodded.

"All right. Tell them to come over but no further than the barricade. You and I will meet them there".

While Tibor did as he had been instructed, Matthew drew and loaded his pistol. Catching sight of what he was doing, Tibor was aghast.

"But they're under a flag of truce. Surely you don't mean to ..."  
"No, not unless I have to, no, but my motto is _beware of Greeks bearing gifts_. I know of several instances during the Great War when the Germans used a flag of truce to mount a surprise attack. That being so, I'm not taking any chances".

* * *

They stood and watched in silence as the officer and private emerged from out of the trees and walked slowly forward and stopped at the barricade. The officer saluted, which Matthew and Tibor duly returned, before looking down at the defenders crouched behind the tree trunks and lattice of branches.

"But these are just mere boys," he observed scornfully.

Tibor translated.

"So it would seem," agreed Matthew. "But these _mere boys_ as you call them have just given your troops rather a bloody nose". Matthew turned to Tibor. "Tell him what I just said. Word for word".

On being told what Matthew had said, the officer bristled before laughing harshly.

"A handful of lucky shots, no more. You are outnumbered. Hopelessly so". With a wide sweep of his left arm, the officer now indicated the troops behind him in the trees. "In order to save needless deaths, I am instructed to demand that you surrender. Immediately. Lay down your weapons, and you will be treated honourably, according to the laws and usages of war".

"And if we do not?"  
"Then no quarter will be given. We will kill you. All of you. Five minutes, gentlemen. No more". The officer saluted crisply and not waiting for it to be returned, accompanied by the private still bearing aloft the white flag of truce, turned, and walked briskly back towards their own lines.

Matthew and Tibor did likewise.

"Did you believe him?" asked Matthew as they slipped through the barricade and onto the bridge.

"About what would happen, if we surrendered?"

Tibor shook his head.  
"Not for a moment. What about you?"  
"No, not at all".

"So it seems we have but one option then; to fight on".  
Matthew clapped Tibor across the shoulders.

"Did you really think we ever had a choice?"

* * *

With those defending the bridge having failed to surrender by the appointed time, the snipers hidden amongst the trees on the far side of the stream, despite the casualties they had sustained, were soon at it again; so too, from the emplacement which they had set up on their arrival, the machine gunners, who quickly became as active as the riflemen, rattling away in two-step time, ta-ra-rum-tum-tum, so that it became exceptionally dangerous for Matthew, Tibor or any of the others to show their heads, even for an instant. If they did so, they risked being potted and, as if to prove this was indeed so, one of the soldiers under Matthew's command, who was foolish enough to raise his head ever so slightly above the low parapet of the trench in which he was kneeling, found himself knocked over by a bullet, which hit his steel helmet. Thankfully, the boy's tin hat did what it was supposed to do, and he survived unscathed, thereafter picking himself from off the ground but this time keeping low, worming his way along the shallow scrape in the earth that passed for a trench, by crawling through the mud on his stomach.

For a moment the chatter of the machine gun died away. With his experience of such matters, Matthew wondered if it might have jammed _-_ it would be a stroke of luck if it had - sometimes they did. But, even if that was so _,_ with it growing ever lighter by the minute, through his loaned binoculars, on the other side of the stream, on both sides of the road, Matthew caught sight of yet more uniformed, steel helmeted figures edging their way cautiously through the trees towards the far end of the bridge.

It turned out there was nothing wrong with the machine gun for from it there came another sudden burst of fire and, riddled with bullets, one of the soldiers standing close to Matthew, fell to the ground, writhing and screaming, as he died, while next to him another young lad was kneeling in the mud, his head thrown back, with the bullets hitting him, tearing into flesh and bone. A moment later and he too lay still.

* * *

Keeping himself low, the NCO now appeared beside Matthew. Breathing heavily, gasping for breath, the young soldier spilled out the bad news.

"Sir, Captain Csáky reports that they're moving forward, towards the bridge and, that there are enemy soldiers down by the weir waiting to cross".

"Did he say how many?"

The lad shook his head; spread his hands and shrugged.

"No, sir, but Captain Csáky says we can't hold them. He says ..."  
"Says what?" Matthew grasped the boy roughly by the shoulders. Only then did he see just how ashen the other's face was, the tears in his eyes; heard the naked fear in his voice.

"That you should consider falling back ... That it's over, sir".

"Yes, I rather think, it's time we were on our way". Matthew nodded; immediately released his hold. "Now, go back to Captain Csáky and tell him to withdraw to this end of the bridge. Have all our ... men ... gather there".

"Yes, sir". The NCO saluted hurriedly and headed off back whence he had just come.

* * *

Having been told that Matthew had instructed that they should withdraw, Tibor ordered everyone to fall back. Not that there was any real need for him to do so for, had he not given the order when he did, with mortar shells now beginning to explode all around them, the ordered retreat would have become a panic, and then a rout.

* * *

Gathered at the inner barricade, with the wounded having been hurriedly loaded onto the battered old lorry which constituted their sole means of transport, telling everyone else to take cover behind the truck, Matthew knew he could delay no longer. While Tibor and the others had been off after the mortar, Matthew had done what he could with the explosive charges with which the bridge had been mined. Now was the moment of truth. Would what he had done work? Crouching beside the truck, he twisted the plunger on the detonator box.

Nothing happened.

On the other side of the stream, sensing victory, the Regent's troops could now be seen running towards the abandoned barricade at the other end of the bridge.

"Try again!" yelled Tibor.

Matthew twisted hard on the plunger.

A moment later, there came the most deafening roar and the bridge exploded in a sheet of flame and flying fragments of shattered masonry.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

The title of this chapter comes from the phrase _The darkest hour is just before the dawn._

Believe it or not, as built, the F13 had no brakes.

Approximately 30% of all shells fired between 1914 and 1918 failed to detonate.

 _going out to bat at Lords. C_ ommonly known as Lord's, Lord's Cricket Ground, in St. John's Wood, London, is the most famous cricket ground in the world.

With regard to the survival of the Austrian Chancellor, Engelbert Dolfuss, Friedrich was uncannily accurate in his prediction. Dolfuss would be assassinated by Nazi thugs, just under a year later, in July 1934.

 _Richard Hannay_ \- the fictitious British secret agent and eponymous hero of five novels written by John Buchan (1875-1940), beginning with _The Thirty Nine Steps_ , all of which, save for the last, had been published and would have been widely known by the time of this particular story.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty Six

The Silver Ghost

 **South east of Rózsafa, Hungary, summer 1933.**

Running just as fast as they could, at the same time casting hurried, backward glances over their shoulders at the rising pall of both dust and smoke mingled with falling debris from the bridge, to the shouts and cheers of their own men, with the odd stray bullet spurring them on, a matter of moments later, Matthew and Tibor reached the waiting lorry and clambered up into the cab. Grimly satisfied, looking across at Tibor now seated behind the steering wheel of the battered old truck, with the engine already running, hearing through the open window both the screams and yells, as well as howls of anger and impotent rage coming from the Regent's troops now stranded, at least for the present, on the far side of the destroyed bridge, Matthew pronounced himself well satisfied with what they had done.

"Well, though I say so myself, that was a damned close run thing!"

Grinning like a Cheshire cat - Tibor knew the phrase but doubted it was true - Matthew proceeded to settle himself in the passenger seat, as if he was taking his place in the circle to watch a performance of Ivor Novello's _Fresh Fields_ at the Criterion Theatre in Piccadilly Circus. This notwithstanding the fact that when the bridge had exploded both of them had come within an inch of losing their lives. Tibor smiled for there it was again: the English understatement. "Anyway, no real harm done," continued Matthew in the same cheerful vein. "Rather more to the point, that should serve to hold them. At least for a while".

"But what if they should try and ford the stream down at the weir?"

Matthew shook his head.

"Unless I'm very much mistaken, there'll be no chance of that. Not now. All that debris from the bridge will have dammed up the stream, raising the level of the water by several feet, making it impossible for them to cross there. So, until the stream goes down, it gives us a breathing space. Where to now?"

"First to the barn and rendezvous with the others, then decide what we should do. A dash for the border looks to be our only option.

Matthew nodded.

"Right, then, what the hell are you waiting for? Let's get this damned crate moving!""

A minute later, in the light of the breaking, flame-shot smoke-filled dawn, with Tibor having shouted to all of those in the back of the truck to hold on tight, they were off, bouncing down the country road, heading for the barn.

But, thought Matthew, what they then did, after they reached there, God alone knew.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, later that very same morning.**

Here at Rosenberg, it promised to be yet another beautiful day; the warm sunshine and all but cloudless azure blue of the sky seeming, if not to mock, then to bely the dreadfulness of the situation in which those in the house found themselves. For, as yet, there was still no word of what had become of Matthew, Mary, and Tom, and with the dawn of yet another day, it seemed increasingly likely that, as and when news of their loved ones did at last filter through, as surely it must, it would not be good.

So far, the morning had proceeded very much as had all of those which preceded it, both before, as well as after, news of what had been happening over there in Hungary had reached Rosenberg: for the adults the slow passage of the hours punctuated by a litany of voiced _what ifs_ and _maybes_ , of hopes raised momentarily and then once more cruelly dashed. And for Friedrich, Edith, and Sybil there was the added burden of having to continue to try and preserve a mask of normality; to foster the belief that somehow, in the end, all would come right.

But the time for that had now run out.

Within the house where, spilling through the now un-shuttered windows, the early morning sun cast golden pools of light upon the polished parquet of the floors, established routine was very much the order of the day. As was always the case at Rosenberg during the summer, unless bad weather intervened to prevent it, once everyone in the family was up, washed, and dressed, breakfast had been taken _al fresco_ on the terrace. Out here, the air was drowsy, heavy with the scent of flowers and the English roses which were Edith's pride and joy. Northwards, beyond the boundary of the estate, the mountains were magnificent; the snow capped peaks of the distant Alps glistening in the bright sunlight. To the south there could be glimpsed the spreading mossy green mantle of the Wienerwald, evoking the scent of pine trees and cool, welcome shade. Eastwards, Vienna was but a faint smudge on the distant horizon, while westwards the broad ribbon of water that was the Danube shimmered and sparkled in the morning heat haze.

* * *

With breakfast at last over, save for Nanny Bridges who had come downstairs and taken Rebecca back inside to find her young charge a sun hat, everyone else in the family, both adults and children alike, remained out on the terrace to enjoy the sunshine. Taking advantage of this, after a hurried, whispered conversation, Danny, Rob, and Max decided that now was the time to try and return Max's father's fishing rod from whence it had come. However, while they themselves were singularly unaware of it, their secretive discussion had not gone unnoticed. Now, unobserved, as she watched the three boys, their arms around each other's shoulders, chattering nineteen to the dozen, disappear off inside the house, Edith turned to Sybil.

"Mark my words, darling, those three are up to something".

"I don't doubt that for a minute. They usually are," agreed Sybil whose own suspicions of the young musketeers had already been roused during breakfast by the three boys, even Robert, being unduly solicitous for Saiorse's welfare. "In fact, I've a private notion that they had something to do with what happened last night in Saiorse's bedroom. Exactly what, I'm not entirely sure but all the same I ..."

Edith tapped the side of her nose.

"Well, as dear Papa so often used to say, _softly, softly, catchee monkey_!"

Sybil laughed out loud. Despite all that had happened, Edith thought it was very good to hear her do so.  
"Why, now you come to mention it, yes he did! Do you know, I hadn't thought of that in years".

Edith rose to her feet.

"Where exactly are you going?"

" **Exactly**? Now, darling, that would be telling!" Edith laughed. "To catch a monkey, or to be precise, three! I'll let you know what I find out".

* * *

A few moments later, and Sybil, too, rose to her feet. She turned to Friedrich and smiled.

"Friedrich, would you mind awfully keeping an eye on Saiorse, Simon, and Bobby?" Sybil nodded in the direction of the three children who were lying stretched out on the warm flagstones, all of them intent on watching a pair of green lizards, likewise motionless, save that was for their tiny pulsating throats.

"No, of course not". Friedrich smiled.

In the comparatively short time he had known Sybil, astute as undoubtedly he was in so many things, very early on, Friedrich had come to realise that, saving the relationship between Edith and himself, that between Tom and Sybil was unlike any other he had ever encountered. They were as two sides of the same coin; that one would be entirely lost without the other.

That while Danny, Saiorse, Bobby, and little Dermot were all dearly loved, Friedrich suspected, no, knew, that, at least for Sybil, the children were what his own parents' generation had referred to quaintly as _proofs of affection_. If, God forbid, anything should indeed have happened to that loquacious, dearly loved Irishman, and Tom did not come back to her, while Sybil would, of course, do her very best to carry on, she would be doing so only for the sake of those four children. She herself would be broken; entirely lost, and bereft of purpose. There were some hurts that went too deep ever to be healed.

However, for all that, had not Tom and Sybil, and then later both Edith and he, dared to flout the hypocritical, sanctimonious moral code and the social mores of the time, then all four of them would have foregone their own chance of happiness, however fleeting that might prove to be. And while it took courage to dare, without daring, they would have lost what might have been. Friedrich had said as much to Matthew whose own marriage to Mary, while outwardly seeming to be very conventional, was anything but. After all, if Mary's cousin, Patrick, someone of her own social class and standing, had not gone down with the Titanic, then she would have married him and not a distant middle class relative, a provincial solicitor, hailing from Manchester.

* * *

Alarmed by the noise of the retreating footsteps, with their long tongues flicking, quick as a flash, the two lizards disappeared down the nearest crack in the flagstones. The three children were disconsolate.

Seeing their woebegone faces, Friedrich stifled a laugh.

"Never mind, you three, Mark my words, if not directly, they'll be back again soon enough and basking in the sun".

Turning his head, Friedrich saw Sybil disappear inside the house, assuming that she must have gone in search of Edith; either that or else to look in on little Dermot and Kurt. But as things turned out, Sybil had other plans.

Settling himself back in his wicker chair, Friedrich began to read the first of his morning papers. But a moment later, he had set it aside. The news was not good but then these days, here in Austria, it scarcely ever was. It seemed that Italy was prepared to guarantee Austrian independence but there was a high price to be paid for the favour of the strutting martinet who called himself Il Duce: that being that Herr Dollfuss had to abolish all political parties and reform Austria's constitution along Fascist lines.

* * *

 **South east of Rózsafa, Hungary, earlier that same morning.**

Almost within sight of the old barn, the truck lurched heavily once again, throwing Matthew hard against Tibor who, with yells coming once again from the back of the truck to have a care for the wounded, now slowed the lorry to little more than a virtual crawl.

"Sorry. The roads down here on the Alföld are so bad even Ili would have to watch her step!"

Matthew smiled; it now seemed a lifetime ago since they had all met Tibor's sister, Ilona, in far distant Budapest.

"Indeed. But I think the same may be said for ... Stop the vehicle!"  
"What?"  
"For God's sake, do as I say! Look!"

Tibor didn't need to be told twice. Slamming his foot down hard on the brake, to a roll of curses from the rear, he brought the old lorry to a sudden and drunken stand in a deep rut in the road.

Ahead of them, in the early morning light Tibor now saw, as Matthew had done a moment or two earlier, young Micky Waldstein, his arms tightly pinioned behind him, being pushed forward, far from gently, by a soldier in the uniform of one of the Regent's troops while in their wake there came another dragging Micky's dog, Dévaj along on his leash. There was only one possible explanation for this sad little group and it did not make for easy *. In Tibor's absence at the bridge the area round the old barn, and given its proximity, presumably also the landing strip, had been overrun by a detachment of the Regent's troops.

"We can't just leave Micky to be marched away like that. God knows what they'll do to him".

Matthew nodded.  
"Of course not. And if they have Micky, then I very much fear that they must have Mary and Tom too".

"Agreed. What we need, my friend is to try some kind of feint. A diversion. But whatever we decide to do, we'd better do it quickly. There's no time to lose!"

However, as things turned out it, the mounting of a diversion by Matthew, Tibor and the few soldiers they could muster proved entirely unnecessary. For, at the very moment when all hope appeared gone, Fate intervened on their behalf and help came to them from a most unexpected source.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, later that very same morning.**

Given the fact that Friedrich and Edith lived very simply, entertained but rarely, and were often away on archaeological digs usually in the Near East, for all of Rosenberg's Baroque splendour, for the greater part of the year most of the main rooms of the house were shut up; their furnishings covered and swathed in dust sheets. Nor did this change when the Bransons and the Crawleys had arrived here from England some three or so weeks earlier.

In a darkened, ground floor passage, Sybil paused. If she remembered correctly, Edith had said that it was off to the right. Or had it been to the left? To be frank, she was somewhat disorientated. Fortunately, at this very moment, Kleist, who it should be explained was not in the best of moods, appeared at the end of the passage on his way to the Butler's Pantry. The reason for Kleist's displeasure was really quite simple. A small item of silverware, a cruet, appeared to have disappeared. For the present, the butler was inclined to the view that the missing item had been merely misplaced.

However, as butler, the responsibility for the safeguarding of the family silver rested with Kleist. So, not to know the precise whereabouts of a particular item, small though it might be, reflected badly on him, as a result of which Kleist had taken the matter to heart. So far, neither the master nor the mistress had been informed that a piece of silver had gone astray and Kleist hoped it would remain that way. He was hopeful that the issue would resolve itself by the simple means of a thorough inspection of the contents of the Butler's Pantry. That there might be a thief among the domestic staff was not something Kleist wished to contemplate. All the same, that a theft had occurred could not entirely be ruled out as, in these troubled times, finding servants who were both reliable and trustworthy was becoming increasingly difficult.

Drawing level with Sybil, Kleist paused; he inclined his head.

"May I be of assistance, madam," he asked sonorously.

"Thank you. Yes, I'm looking for ..."

* * *

 **Somewhere over** **Rózsafa, Hungary, earlier that same morning.**

With the engine stalled, the Junkers continued rapidly to lose height; whatever Wyss had tried to restart it had been to no avail. If only they could make the landing strip although even if they reached there, given what was happening at Rózsafa **,** Wyss had his doubts as to if they would be able to land. Not that it really mattered. Without power, gravity would see to it that they came down to earth but whether in one piece, with both of them living to tell the tale, only time would tell.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, later that very same morning.**

Having assisted Frau Branson with what it was she had wanted to know, the butler stood silently, watching the young woman's retreating form. Whilst, at least officially, Kleist held no opinion whatsoever of his employers, or of their relatives, or guests, this was a convenient fiction, one that was carefully fostered and dutifully maintained by both sides of the social divide that existed in any house betwixt employer and employee. Here at Rosenberg, just like the rest of the house servants, the old butler certainly had opinions; only they were never voiced aloud.

However, had Kleist been prepared to break with convention and make his views known, then undoubtedly he would have said that he found the family here at Rosenberg, along with some of their guests, to be a rum lot. Living openly together, as well as having a ten year old son, until the summer of last year, the master and the mistress had not even been married. That, finally, they had seen fit to regularise their union was very gratifying. All the same, it still did not absolve them from having been living in mortal sin and having a child out of wedlock, thus imperilling their immortal souls.

Then, take the woman whom Kleist had just assisted.

The younger sister of the mistress maybe, but married, as it turned out, to a journalist, and she herself working as a nurse? Yet she, like the mistress, was a daughter of a Graf and Gräfin and the sister and sister-in-law of the same, even if the new Graf once had been a _Rechtsanwalt_. Only the third sister, the eldest of the three was in Kleist's view what he expected a true Gräfin to be.

In all of this, Kleist's attitude was much like that of dear old Carson with whom, had the two men ever chanced to meet, he would have found he had much in common; _plus royaliste que le roi._ And, if the truth be told, after the Great War was over, like Carson, Kleist hankered after the past and the certainty it had brought, when, here in Austria the empire still held sway and the Old Man had been on the throne in Vienna; not the pale shadow of the last emperor, the one who later died an exile's lonely death on the distant island of Madeira.

Now, becoming aware of an unpleasant odour emanating from somewhere on the flagstones beneath his feet, Kleist looked down at his shoes; realised, much too late, that he was standing in a small puddle. While he never expressed any opinion as to the character or merits of his employers, their relatives, or guests, he certainly had his views on the young master's dratted dog!

And with no-one to hear him do so, Kleist now freely gave vent to them.

Hölle und Verdammnis!

* * *

 **Somewhere over** **Rózsafa, Hungary, earlier that same morning.**

Then, suddenly, when all hope for them appeared to be gone, there it was, directly ahead of them: the grassy landing strip at Rózsafa. The site was made certain by the blazing mansion, the crackle of small arms fire and the crump of artillery, together with the ant like figures of grey-green clad soldiers scurrying this way and that across the ground below.

And equally, when least expected, suddenly, now it happened.

The engine of the Junkers roared back into life, just as the 'plane came in to land, in the process skimming the roof of an isolated barn, the building itself set back among the trees, about a half a kilometre short of the landing strip itself.

* * *

 **Entrance Hall, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, later that very same morning.**

"And where, may I ask, do you think you're going with that, young man?"

Having collected the fishing rod from behind the wardrobe in Max's bedroom and come downstairs, as they thought unobserved, heading for the vestibule, halfway across the hall, the three boys froze. Trotting behind them, Fritz came to a halt too; sat down on his haunches and began scratching his belly. Looking up, Danny and Rob saw their Aunt Edith, and Max his mother, standing above them on the landing, leaning forward over the balustrade.

"With what, Mama?"

"With one of your Papa's fishing rods".  
"Oh, you mean **this**?" asked Max gazing at the fishing rod as if he had only just become aware of its existence and the fact that he was carrying it. Dutifully he held up the fishing rod for his mother's inspection.

"Well, unless you happen to be carrying something else that I haven't seen, then yes, **that** ".

"No, Mama".

"So, where are you all going?"

"Well, Mama, we're ..."  
"Yes?"

"What I mean is, Mama, is that we ... er ..." Max was a poor liar. He blushed red; now fell silent.

 _All for one and one for all ..._

"We're going fishing, Aunt Edith," put in Rob brightly, now coming to Max's assistance.

"I see. Going fishing," repeated Edith, tonelessly.

"For sure," said Danny emphatically, doing his part to back Rob up.

"So, you see, Mama, that's why we need a fishing rod," added Max, trying to be equally helpful.

"Really?"  
"Yes, Mama".

"Well, thank you, boys. That makes everything so very much clearer. After all, who would ever have thought that three boys, one of them carrying a fishing rod, were going fishing". Edith paused. "Max, darling?"  
"Yes, Mama?"  
"The fishing rods are all kept over there, out in the vestibule. Now, if, as you say, you're going fishing, how do you already come to be in possession of the rod?"

"We collected it ... earlier".  
"Did you now? Earlier? As in earlier last night?"

"No, Mama, earlier this morning". Which, of course, was true enough - the boys having just collected the rod from Max's bedroom. As in fact Edith knew, having, after breakfast, followed them inside the house and, unobserved, seen them go upstairs, thence along the passage and into Max's bedroom from where they had emerged a few moments later, Max with one of his father's much prized fishing rods.

The corners of Edith's mouth twitched.

"Given what happened the last time you went fishing, when all of you ended up soaked to the skin and you, young man, with a cut knee, I would have thought you would have thought twice about doing so again".

Of course, what had occurred at the pool had not been their fault. Friedrich had said as much - _boys will be boys_ \- and Edith regretted bitterly taking Danny and Rob to task, and in public too, for something for which they were not themselves to blame. Given Max's haemophilia, it was just the way things were. A moment's inattention and ... Boisterous, full of beans, and irrepressible, the three of them: the aftermath of the accident out at the Old Tower had been proof enough of that if any proof was needed. Collectively, thought Edith, the three boys were, undeniably, a handful!

"Well, er ...

"No _well er_ about it". Edith paused. "This wouldn't ..."  
"Wouldn't?"

"... have anything to do with what happened to Saiorse last night?"

"To Saiorse?" Somehow, Danny managed to contrive a look that suggested butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

"Last night?" asked Rob, trying his best to sound equally innocent.

"I find myself wondering if there is an echo in here". They watched in silence while their much loved aunt gazed slowly around the ornate entrance hall.

"An echo? For sure?" Just like his beloved Da, Danny could be all Irish charm and innocence.  
"But then, if so," mused Edith, "it's singularly odd that I haven't noticed it long before now. Ah, well, never mind. I suppose it must be just one of those things".

Danny grinned. _Thick as a feckin' plank_!

Turning her attention now to Max, for a moment, Edith looked silently down upon her son. While it could be said, and with good reason, that where Max was concerned Edith was hardly an impartial observer, no-one would deny that he was a handsome boy; good natured, and possessed of an easy, ready smile. All of which made him very much something of a favourite among Friedrich and Edith's small circle of close friends.

When he was well Max was brimful of life and just as high spirited as any ten year old boy. Even more so when he was in the company of Danny and Rob, after whom he trailed devotedly. Not there was anything soft about Max; indeed, far from it. For in this regard his haemophilia seemed to have hardened him and, in some respects, made him old beyond his youthful years. Something of which both Friedrich and Edith were acutely aware.

And there was something else too, of which they were also mindful. For so long an only child, desperate for playmates of his own age, since meeting his cousins for the very first time only last year, it seemed to Max's parents that, on occasions, whether consciously on his part was hard to tell, Max was intent on doing his very best to make up for lost time. It was as if he knew that all of what others simply took for granted could so easily be snatched away from him in an instant by what for any other boy would be but a bump, a slight knock or else a fall. And when he was with Danny and Rob, insofar as he was able, Max joined in with gusto in all their games and tried to do everything they did.

"Max, darling ..."  
"Yes, Mama?"

"May I suggest that you put the rod back from whence it came".  
"Now, Mama?"  
"Yes, Max, now. And we'll say no more about it ... or for that matter, about anything else". Edith smiled. The boys looked nervously from one to the other. It sounded very much as if their Aunt Edith, Max's Mama, knew all about the clay head of Anubis. Not that she had any right to know anything about it at all, but one never knew ... with Aunt Edith.

Had Max known the English phrase, he would have told you that his mother had _eyes in the back of her head_. In fact, he had said as much to his two cousins and while Danny might well, on occasion, consider his own parents to be _thick as feckin' planks_ , Max remained to be convinced of the truth of this. So far, it was his opinion that Danny's view of things was rather wide of the mark. For, it seemed to be the case that whenever Max became involved in a scrape - which was not that often - somehow, Mama knew all about it. Often before he told her. Such as the time a couple of years ago when, with Papa and Mama away for the afternoon visiting friends, Max, then aged all of eight years old, and using his well honed powers of persuasion to good effect, had persuaded Ralf but a couple of years older than he, the son of one of the grooms here at Rosenberg, to teach Max how to ride a bicycle. Something which, given his haemophilia, Max knew he had no business in doing, and in fact had been expressly forbidden from trying by his parents.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, undertaken some distance away from the house, in one of the disused outbuildings where there were sacks and straw aplenty to provide Max with a soft landing if he fell off which, was usually the way of things when someone was learning how to ride a bicycle, the lesson began well enough. And, Max's experience proved no different to those of most other boys, including had he then known them, both Danny and Rob.

Max had a whale of a time and he fell off numerous times, though seemingly with no ill effects, his repeated falls well cushioned either by the sacks or straw, or else by Ralf, in the nick of time, when the bicycle threatened to topple over yet again, coming to Max's assistance and preventing him from falling off.

After about an hour, and well before Max's parents returned to Rosenberg, the two boys had parted, a delighted Max to go in for his tea down in the kitchen and hopefully with a piece of Frau Eder's _apfelstrudel_ , and Ralf to pedal back to his parents' cottage, but not before Max had arranged another lesson with his young co-conspirator in the same place and at the same time for the following week.

* * *

Next morning, when he woke up, both Max's arms and his legs were covered in bruises. Of course, sometimes, this just happened, without any help from Max himself; but never to this extent. On seeing the bruises on his knees and then those on his arms and elbows, Mama had been suspicious but, fortunately, on this occasion, Max suffered no other ill effects. After a few days the bruises began to fade away as indeed was also sometimes the case.

* * *

Standing outside the front door of the house, with Max beside her, seeing him raise his hand and wave in the direction of Ralf who, having brought his father his lunch from home, was riding his bicycle back down the drive, homeward bound, Edith looked thoughtfully at her son, as if she was making up her mind about something. In fact, that was just what she was doing as a result of fragments of a conversation Friedrich had overheard in the stable yard and which he had duly reported to Edith; none of which made any sense. Not unless ...

"I suppose your bruises wouldn't have anything to do with trying to learn how to ride a bicycle, would they?"

"No, Mama". Max blushed. It seemed that Mama knew too much.

"Well, then, we'll say no more about it".

"Thank you, Mama".

Max breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief. After all, he didn't want Ralf to be in any trouble; not on his account.

Edith smiled.

As for Max's second bicycle lesson, it never took place.

* * *

 **Landing Strip, Rózsafa, Hungary, earlier that same morning.**

A moment later, and two shots rang out at which Fergal nodded, well satisfied. That had taken care of the blasted boy and his dog. Now for the other two. However, before Fergal could make to pull the trigger of his pistol and shoot Tom dead, or the soldier begin the business of unbuttoning Mary's coat, something completely unexpected happened.

Like a great silver ghost, now little more than six feet from off the ground, the Junkers had swept in silently from the north. A moment later and its engine roared into life. Those gathered here at the landing strip, both captors and captive alike, scattered in alarm, throwing themselves flat so as to avoid the incoming aeroplane which was so low that any one of them could have reached out and touched the belly of the fuselage with their bare hands.

* * *

As the aeroplane touched down on the grass of the landing strip, bounced, and began taxiing towards the far end of the field, in its wake, picking himself up from off the ground the front of his uniform besmirched with grass and mud, Fergal was beside himself with rage. However, before he was able to round on the men under his command, a voice called out to them in Hungarian. Whoever it was, was someone who was clearly used to giving orders and having them obeyed upon the instant.

"All of you, throw down your weapons, and put up your hands!"

The men under Fergal's command, most of whom had dropped their rifles when they had flung themselves on the ground to avoid the incoming aeroplane and had not yet retrieved them, looked nervously about. A moment later there came the sound of other rifles being cocked. At this the soldiers wisely did as they had been ordered. Those who still had weapons now dropped them and each man duly raised his hands. All that was save Fergal, who resolutely held onto his own drawn revolver.

"Pull that trigger and you're a dead man. Now, drop it!" called a voice, this time in English, while at the same time Fergal felt the cold muzzle of a pistol pressed hard against the back of his head. With a finely honed sense of self preservation, Fergal too did as he had been ordered and promptly dropped his revolver.

* * *

Picking herself up from off the ground, Mary saw Matthew, his face begrimed, hair tousled, and looking distinctly dishevelled, standing directly behind Tom's cousin, his pistol pressed hard against the back of the other's head. As to the identity of the German officer, even without seeing his face, Matthew was in no doubt who he was. None whatsoever.

"Matthew, darling!" cried Mary, her voice rich with relief.

"Are you hurt?" he asked of her tersely, all the while keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the back of the head of the man in front of him.

"Hurt? No, darling. Not at all. Only my pride," Mary replied disdainfully. "God, I must look a positive fright!"

"You don't. But spoken like a true Crawley. Not that I would have expected any less of you. What about you, Tom? All you all right?"

Likewise also having risen none too steadily to his feet, Tom nodded mutely at his brother-in-law, somehow managing to contrive a brief smile.

"Yes, although I've been better, for sure, he croaked. "But, if ya'll forgive me, I always keep my promises. That being so, there's something I have to do".  
"Which is what?"  
"This!" Briefly forgetful of his own injuries, giving himself over to a rage which Matthew would never have thought he possessed, Tom hit Fergal hard in the mouth with his right fist. Both the force and the unexpectedness of the blow sent his cousin reeling.

"That was for what ya did to her! And this is for me, ya bastard!" Whereupon Tom kicked Fergal hard in the stomach, causing the other man to double up in pain.

Tom nodded curtly at Matthew, turned, and, without saying another word, limped over to where Mary stood. Their eyes met.

"Are ya really all right?" he asked.

"In your words, yes, for sure!" Mary smiled. "But what about you?" she asked, slipping a comforting arm about his shoulders, reminding her instantly of something which had happened years ago, at the Shelbourne Hotel in Dublin, when she had come to Tom's aid after he had been set upon by a group of constables of the city's police,

It seemed Tom had not forgotten the incident at the Shelbourne either. He grinned.

"Just like old times, eh? Don't worry, Mary, I'll pull through".

"Then ... Oh no! Tom! Look!"  
"Where? What?" Clearly alarmed, Tom cast about him, seeking to see what had so alarmed her.

"There! Oh, my poor hat!"

" **Your hat**?" Tom was, and sounded, incredulous. At a time like this only a member of the bloody aristocracy would be concerning themselves with the fate, of all things, of a feckin' hat!

Mary nodded;pointed towards where her hat lay, having been trampled into the mud by a melee of booted feet. Well, thought Mary, every cloud has a silver lining. Assuming that somehow they made it out of here, Edith could jolly well buy her another - so long of course that Mary herself approved her choice before the purchase was made.

It was now, for the first time in what seemed to have been a very long while that Mary found herself smiling. A smile which quickly broadened into a grin as, accompanied by Tibor and a handful of soldiers, she saw walking towards the two of them across the short grass, someone whom she never thought to see again: a smiling Micky Waldstein and, gambolling beside him his dog, Dévaj.

"Micky, darling!"

Impulsively, Mary reached out and hugged the boy tightly to her.

* * *

Having turned the Junkers around at the far end of the landing strip, with its propeller still slowly revolving, Conrad taxied back almost to the point where they had landed. Then, leaving the engine running, fearing that if they switched off the ignition it might never start again, in a trice both Wyss and Salvatore were out of the cockpit, clambering across the wing, and jumping down onto the grass.

With introductions quickly having been made, Conrad impressed upon the intending passengers, the perilousness of their situation; that they must take off immediately. Matthew nodded. He could see the sense in that. After all, it was only a matter of time before the Regent's troops found some means of crossing the stream and made their way out here. As if to reinforce this, from the direction of Rózsafa, a couple of enormous explosions now rent the air.

Tibor shook his head despondently.

"They must have hit the ammunition stored in the outbuildings. Either that or else those defending the house have blown it up themselves".

* * *

Allowed to rise to his feet, wiping a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth, Fergal was surprised to see the boy, the one with the dog, whom he had given orders be shot, now reaching down and retrieving his military cap before handing it back to him. Mystified, given leave to turn around, Fergal found himself gazing into the bluest pair of eyes he had ever seen. But eyes which were as sheathed in ice.

"Ah, I might have known. Captain Crawley. So, we meet again".

"Indeed," said Matthew dispassionately and in a voice devoid of any emotion, all the while keeping his pistol trained firmly on Fergal. "In case you're wondering about the boy, we've taken care of your two thugs. Oh, don't worry they're still alive ... at least for now; which is rather less than they deserve". Matthew paused. "I find myself wondering what is to be done with you and your men".

"We have surrendered. As demanded of us. According to the laws and usages of war ..."  
"Spare me a lecture on the niceties of the Geneva Conventions. I rather suspect I know them better than do you".

"Matthew ..."  
"Yes? What is it?"  
Tibor lowered his voice.

"In case it has escaped you, there are too few of us; too many of them". Swiftly, Tibor indicated their own half dozen men, with their rifles trained on a group twice their own in number.  
"It hadn't. Then you know what must be done. Get on with it".  
"But they've surrendered. Surely you don't mean that we ..."

In a manner that brooked no argument, Matthew brought his free hand down decisively.

Tibor blanched; no, he would not, he could not be, party to a bloody massacre of unarmed men.

* * *

Then, quite out of the blue, there came an unexpected intervention, from the most unlikely quarter.

"No!" Mary shook her head vehemently. "Matthew, surely you of all men must know when mercy is called for and when it should be withheld. Hasn't there been enough killing already?"

Matthew nodded.

"Yes ... and there has," he said slowly. "Very well then. I think I have the answer. Captain Csáky?"  
"Yes?"  
"Tell them to strip".  
"Strip?"

"You heard me. Yes, strip. And tell them to be quick about it".

For Tibor the penny dropped.

"Ah, yes, I see".

"I'm glad that you do". Matthew nodded.

Tibor now turned his attention to the cowering group of men all of whom must have thought that their last moments had come.

"Strip!" he ordered in Hungarian.

The men looked each to the other, as if they were unsure of what it was that they had been ordered to do. So, just to make sure that they had indeed understood his command, Tibor repeated what he had just said.

Clearly embarrassed, the more so because of the presence of a woman being witness to their plight, slowly the men began taking off their uniforms until there was a large pile of discarded clothing and pairs of boots littering the ground.

"Those as well," Tibor said pointing to the men's underpants. A moment later, save for Fergal, all stood stark naked in front of their captors, shamefaced, each doing his very best to hide his manhood with his hands.

"Like that I don't think they'll give us any more trouble," said Matthew. "Micky, I think you know what needs to be done with those". He nodded toward the pile of discarded clothing and thence to the nearest pile of still blazing straw.

"Yes, of course". With Dévaj trotting beside him, Micky now began gathering up both uniforms and boots before flinging the first of them onto the blaze of straw.

* * *

Gagged, and with their hands tied tightly behind them, both done with strips of cloth torn from their uniforms, Fergal and the naked group of men were herded at gunpoint into the old barn where they were ordered to sit cross legged on the bare earth. Tibor told them not to be so foolish as to try and escape as the pair of heavy wooden doors were now wired to explode. While it was taking something of a risk, assuming that the German officer had no knowledge of explosives, Tibor even went so far as to call him over to bear witness to the truth of what he had just said. This in the form of sticks of dynamite, left over from the blowing of the bridge, now firmly attached to the outside of the two great doors of the barn.

Not that the explosives posed the slightest danger to anyone; neither to man nor beast. Not without detonators. All the same, Tibor hoped this little stratagem, suggested by Matthew, would ensure that the men now penned inside the barn kept well away from the doors, at least until those outside were long gone.

* * *

With what little luggage they had brought with them from Rózsafa having been retrieved from the Maybach and stowed in the luggage compartment of the 'plane, with Tom sitting, strapped into his leather seat, and up in the cockpit Wyss and Salvatore growing ever more impatient to be off, Matthew was still trying to persuade Mary to climb on board.

"My darling, we shouldn't need to be having this conversation. I meant what I said a moment ago; you're the bravest woman I know".

"How gallant of you to say so".

Sparing a thought for Friedrich, Matthew smiled.

"Look, while I agree that it takes courage to dare, without daring we run the risk of losing what might have been. So, please, if not for me, then do this for the sake of our children". Matthew rested his hand on the gentle swell of her belly, before once more with the palm of his hand, indicating the open door to the small cabin.

Matthew could be very persuasive and Mary had the good sense to know when she was beaten.

"Very well then".

Having made her farewells to Micky and to Tibor, neither of which proved easy, with one final pat for Dévaj, Mary let Matthew help her up onto the wing, from where she climbed inside the cabin and then seated herself next to Tom.

"Here, let me," he said, as with eyes misting, unseeing, she fumbled with the belt.

* * *

Matthew turned to Tibor.

"Look, I know it'll be a bit of squeeze, but there's room enough inside, both for you and for Micky. For God's sake, come with us!"

"And just what do you suggest I do about them?" With a quick sweep of his left hand, Tibor indicated the small group of young soldiers gathered but a short way off, anxiously awaiting his orders. "Besides which Micky would never leave his dog. No, we'll make it through to Erdőtelek".

"But if you stay here in Hungary, like as not, you'll all be ..."

Tibor nodded. He knew well enough what Matthew meant. All the same, he shook his head.

"Would you?"  
"Would I?" echoed Matthew.  
"What I mean is, if our situations were reversed, and you were in my position?" When Matthew failed to respond, Tibor ghosted a smile. Again he shook his head. "No, I thought not. You would stay and do your duty. Not shirk it. As indeed would any officer. And so, my friend, must I. After all, as I told you once before, this is my country. Now, Matthew, please for all our sakes, do as you've been asked, and board the 'plane, there's a good fellow".

"Then, please to remember what I told you, about ..."

"Yes, I remember".

"I'll never forget you ... nor what you did for us!"

The two of them shook hands.

"Then I wish you God speed," Tibor said softly.

A moment later, having clambered up onto the wing, pulling the door shut behind him, Matthew disappeared inside the cabin. Gazing up at the windows, Tibor raised his right hand in one final heartfelt salutation, then turned, and, without looking back, walked away.

* * *

At the truck, having seen that everyone was once again on board, Tibor climbed up into the cab where Micky sat with Dévaj beside him.

"Now, off to Erdőtelek".

Dévaj gave a short bark.

"I'll take that as a yes!" laughed Tibor.

Micky grinned.

And then they were off, bumping and lurching their way southwards, to Erdőtelek, and, hopefully, to safety.

* * *

But it was not to be.

A matter of a few kilometres down the road, they found their way blocked by a contingent of troops loyal to the Regent. Forced to bring the lorry to a stand, Tibor and Micky were ordered out of the cab at gunpoint, Micky bringing Dévaj with him. Those in the back fared far worse for, having climbed down from the vehicle and, as they had been instructed to do, brought the wounded with them, all, some but a little older than Micky, were lined up at the side of the road and shot, the bloodied corpses left where they had fallen, as a warning to other would-be rebels..

Unwilling witnesses to this appalling act of wanton brutality, Tibor had been horrified; Micky no less so.

When at last the shooting stopped, the officer who had been in charge of the firing squad, snapped his fingers at the two survivors.

"And now you will come with us". He nodded curtly to an NCO. "Bring them".

* * *

Back at the airstrip, inside the passenger cabin of the aeroplane, Tom turned to Matthew.

"Like as not, Tibor will hear if we come out of this alive, for sure. But will we ever know what happens to him?"

"Who knows? Perhaps".

At this, Mary stifled a sob. A solitary tear ran down her cheek. Well, let it, she thought, now settling herself back in her seat, resting her head comfortably against Matthew's shoulder.

The Junkers began picking up speed, bouncing along the turf.

This was it.

For better or for worse, they were off.

But as for Tibor, Micky, and all the others on the truck, for those on board the 'plane it was equally too late. As the wheels were on the very point of lifting clear of the ground, directly in the path of the Junkers, supported by a detachment of infantry, an armoured car burst on to the field, spraying a lethal hail of bullets.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Between January 1933 and February 1934 Ivor Novello's comedy, _Fresh Fields,_ ran for 465 performances at the Criterion Theatre.

In large houses, such as Downton or Rosenberg, the Butler's Pantry was used to store serving items. Traditionally, it was used for cleaning, counting, and storing silverware.

 _Rechtsanwalt_ \- a solicitor.

The Old Man - Franz Joseph who as emperor between 1848 and 1916 ruled over the sprawling Austro-Hungarian Empire.

Hölle und Verdammnis - hell and damnation.

The Junkers F13 could carry up to four passengers. It was in this same type of aircraft that Emperor Karl and his wife Zita flew from Switzerland to Hungary in October 1921 in their ill-fated attempt to try and regain the throne. During the course of that daredevil flight, the plane's engine stopped working on several occasions. This particular episode provided the inspiration for part of this story.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty Seven

Homeward Bound

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

Having returned here to the sunlit terrace from her spot of surreptitious sleuthing in the house, Edith seated herself back beside Friedrich.

"More coffee?" he asked solicitously, reaching for the delicately chased pot with its long, curving, serpentine spout.

"Thank you, yes".

Having re-filled Edith's cup, Friedrich set the silver coffee pot back on the table and smiled.

"There ..."  
"And, Sybil?"  
"I presume she must still be somewhere inside".  
"Oh. I wonder if she ... "

"You wonder if she what ..."

Edith waved her husband into silence. With a rattle, she set her cup down in its saucer.

"No. It doesn't matter. Honestly, those three!" Edith shook her head in mock disbelief; nodded towards the house.

"So, you think Danny, Robert, and our very own young scamp had some hand in what happened last night?"

His wife nodded.

Aware that, even if Saiorse, Simon, and Bobby were intent on watching a pair of lizards darting about on and between the flagstones, they were still within earshot, Edith kept her voice deliberately low.

"No doubt of it whatsoever! Although, what exactly _it_ was I'm not quite certain, but apparently _it_ involved them borrowing one of your fishing rods".

"One of my fishing rods?" Friedrich cocked an enquiring eye, with Edith then proceeding to explain, again in hushed tones, what it was she had observed, first upstairs, and then in the hall. When she had finished the telling of her tale, Friedrich let out a low whistle.

"I see. Well, there's no real harm been done. And, as I told you several times before, darling, boys will be boys. On that score, I have a suggestion to make ..." he said, and just as softly.

* * *

 **Landing Strip, Rózsafa, Hungary, summer 1933, several hours earlier.**

Having been forced down in Roumania by the re-occurring problem with the engine, when Wyss and Salvatore took off from the field across the border, at the very last minute, dead ahead of them, they had encountered a haystack. Now, here at Rózsafa, at least in one sense, it appeared as if history was on the point of repeating itself. For, coming straight at them was an armoured car. No doubt a long forgotten relic, left over from the days of the Great War, capable only of slow speeds, it was, nonetheless, a force with which to be reckoned. After all, avoiding a haystack was one thing, but trying to evade an armoured car spraying a lethal hail of bullets, supported by a group of soldiers intent on taking potshots at the Junkers with their rifles, was an entirely different matter.

There simply was no alternative.

This time, take-off would have to be aborted.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, several hours later.**

"Well, what do you think?" asked Friedrich.

"I think it's a lovely idea but don't you think it would be better if you ..."

"If I waited until we have news of the others? Maybe, Perhaps. Yes, I suppose so. But, I thought it would help take their minds off ..."

"Yes, of course ..."

Edith nodded.

If only there were some news.

She eyed the folded morning newspapers brought out here to the table by Kleist.

"I suppose there's nothing in the papers about ..."

Friedrich shook his head.

"No, nothing at all, but then is that so very surprising?"  
"No, I suppose not".

* * *

 **Somewhere close to the Hungarian Roumanian border, several hours earlier.**

It was with a sudden jolt, and with the noisomness of the nightmare still very much upon him, that Tibor now awoke to find Dévaj licking his face and Micky shaking his arm. By now, Tibor had hoped to have been a great deal further south but, the lorry had been brought to a stand by a puncture, and whilst there was a spare tyre, it would take time to fit. So, with no alternative but to pause in their headlong flight southwards in order to try and effect the necessary repair, a while ago, Tibor had turned the lorry off the road and into a clearing which lay a short distance off the road. There, sheltered by a belt of firs, and so shielded from prying eyes, at least from a cursory glance, with a rudimentary jack made out of stout branches from a fallen fir, the tyre had been changed. It was as well that Tibor had done what he did for, while the lorry was still hidden in the clearing, but a short time later, out on the road, trailing a cloud of dust in their wake, there passed by a detachment of troops loyal to the Regent.

* * *

Turning in his seat, and peering through the rear window of the cab, very much to his relief, Tibor saw the group of young soldiers, some dozing as he himself had been, others trying to make the lot of their wounded comrades a little better - a sip of water here, a makeshift pillow re-positioned, but it was unlikely much could be done for any of them until they reached St. Mihály's abbey. It was an isolated spot, well off the beaten track, unlikely to be searched, and the monks there would take care of those too badly wounded to travel any further.

Tibor swallowed hard. It was time they were off again. After all, his nightmare could so easily have been a bloody reality. Indeed, it could still become so, if they did not put sufficient distance between themselves and what had happened back there at Rózsafa.

Glancing at his wristwatch, seeing the time, sparing a passing thought for Matthew, Mary, and Tom, wondering if they had yet reached Austria, a moment later Tibor had reversed the lorry cautiously out of the clearing. Having turned the vehicle about, he set off down the road making for the abbey, thence to Erdőtelek, and so to Lőkösháza, from where, if necessary, those able to do so could then attempt to cross the border by train to safety in Roumania.

* * *

 **Landing Strip, Rózsafa, Hungary, sometime earlier.**

Here in the semi enclosed cockpit of the aeroplane, with bullets smacking into the duralumin fuselage and wings like a bike of angry hornets, even if those seated behind them in the passenger cabin were entirely ignorant of the fact, both Wyss and Salvatore were only too well aware that, as when they took off from Roumania for the second time, once again, with the wheels now about to lift clear of the ground, they were, almost at the point of no return. A split second decision had to be made: gamble on being able to climb clear of the armoured car, now broadside on to the Junkers and barring its path: or abort the flight, be taken prisoner by soldiers of the _Magyar Királyi Honvédség,_ the Royal Hungarian Army, and thereafter probably shot as spies.

No contest then.

Wyss opened up the throttle just as wide as he possibly could, at the same time praying that none of the incessant stream of bullets hit the engine, the propeller or, _Gott verteidige_ , any of those on board.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, several hours later.**

After their unexpected encounter with Aunt Edith in the hall, with Max having done as he had been instructed to do by his mother and dutifully replaced his father's fishing rod from whence it had come, along with Danny and Rob, the three boys had wandered back upstairs to Danny's bedroom to decide what they might do this sunny morning. A short while later, having gone back downstairs, outside to the terrace, they found that, just as Uncle Friedrich had said, attracted by the warmth of the morning sunshine the two lizards which, earlier, had disappeared down between a crack in the flagstones, had re-appeared; were once more the subject of much silent watchful scrutiny on the part of Saiorse, Simon, and Bobby. Looking up, seeing the three boys re-emerging from the house, laying aside his newspapers, Friedrich beckoned them over to where he and Edith were still sitting.

"Now," Friedrich said, trying his very best to assume a marked degree of cheerfulness which he did not feel, "when Max was laid up in bed with his knee, I made you all a solemn promise, didn't I?"

* * *

 **Landing Strip, Rózsafa, Hungary, summer 1933.**

As bullets began hitting the fuselage of the 'plane, within the passenger cabin, realising that they were under attack, from whom or from what really didn't matter one iota, with Matthew, Mary, and Tom sitting strapped into their seats, there was little they could do to protect themselves; save for Matthew trying his very best to shield Mary with his own body, while Tom hunched forward in his seat, covering his head with his hands. They heard the noise from the engine suddenly increase dramatically; were aware too that they were picking up speed, and a moment later, felt the aeroplane leave the ground.

* * *

As the wheels of the Junkers lifted clear of the grass, and with only inches to spare, the aeroplane skimmed over the top of the armoured car. As their quarry soared out of reach, those on the ground could do nothing but stand helplessly and watch as the 'plane climbed up and away into the bright blue yonder, until at last it was no more than a pinprick of silver on the far distant horizon.

* * *

 **Later, somewhere high over Hungary.**

During the Great War, late in 1915, as an observer, sitting in the front seat of a B.E.2, Matthew had made several flights over the Western Front; on one occasion narrowly avoiding being shot down, this only thanks to the remarkable skill of his pilot, and about which Mary only learned many years after the event had taken place. Until now, this had been the extent of Matthew's experience of flying; something which he had no wish to repeat. All the same, he and Tom had been heard to say that the then craze for wing walking _looked like fun_ , something which, once Mary had learned Edith had been taught how to fly, gave her nightmares. There forming in Mary's mind the re-occurring image of Matthew and Tom both strapped to the wings of a 'plane piloted by Edith looping the loop high above Downton during the annual Statute Fair, trailing in its wake a long banner emblazoned with the words: _The Branson and Crawley Flying Circus_.

* * *

Of course, neither Mary, nor Tom, had ever flown before and so, for the duration of the flight - however long that would prove to be was open to question - sitting strapped into their seats, confined here within the cramped, noisy passenger cabin of the Junkers, at least to begin with, both of them found the flight to be rather an ordeal.

All the same, there was no denying the fact that here, way up among the clouds, which Mary said reminded her for all the world of clumps and wisps of cotton wool, for the three of them the flight soon became something of an adventure. Nonetheless, had they been aware of the continuing problem with the aeroplane's engine, then they would, undoubtedly, have been even more concerned than they were already. For themselves certainly; but also for those whom they had been forced to leave behind in Hungary. Especially Tibor and young Micky Waldstein, but also for both Manfred and Eva.

However, after the Junkers took off, it had turned to the northwest and flown directly over Rózsafa, the mansion itself by then being a mass of fire and flame. There seemed little chance that any of those left inside could have survived the conflagration and even if they had, the likely fate awaiting those involved in the attempted coup against the Regent was too awful to contemplate. All this apart, the stable block had stood some distance from the main house, and Mary found herself hoping fervently that Patrik and all the other horses stabled there had somehow managed to survive the assault on the kastély.

* * *

As the flight progressed, with a vast swathe of Central Europe spread out below them like some gigantic model, encompassing mountains, rivers, plains, towns, villages, railway lines, and roads, but principally the flat, featureless expanse of the Great Hungarian Plain, Matthew observed that it reminded him of a large map which had been displayed on one of the walls of the Geography Room in his public school. At that, for Mary, memory also stirred. Never gifted academically - she left all that sort of thing to Edith - she now recalled that when she had been a very small girl a similar map used to hang in the Day Nursery at Downton. And, it was now, and perhaps for the very first time in her life, that Mary found herself full of admiration for Edith, for having learned how to fly.

* * *

For his part, Tom said that the landscape brought to mind the patchwork quilt which, as a boy, he had on his bed in Ma's homely little house in Clontarf. Although he preferred to have his feet firmly planted on _terra firma_ , once the nail biting circumstances of their departure from Rózsafa were behind them, with the Junkers airborne, now, quite to his surprise Tom found that thousands of feet up above the surface of the earth, here among the clouds, he suffered no nausea, which he always did when on board ship. Of course any trip to Downton involved, inevitably, an outward and a return voyage across the Irish Sea - never the calmest of waters upon which to sail - especially if one was prone to sea sickness and, unless the ocean proved kind and was as flat as a millpond, which was rarely ever the case, Tom spent most of any such voyage looking decidedly green, or else retching his guts up over the ship's rail.

* * *

 ** _'A' Deck, S.S. Canterbury,_ English Channel, August 1933.**

On the Bransons' most recent journey, all the way from Ireland over to Austria, while for once the Irish Sea had been unexpectedly calm, the same could not have been said of the English Channel. The passage from Dover to Calais, which the Bransons and the Crawleys made on board the Southern Railway's single stack steamer, the _S.S. Canterbury,_ had been very rough indeed; the ship pitching and tossing, and poor Tom had suffered accordingly. What had made things infinitely worse, was that Matthew and Mary, both of whom had long heard tales of Tom's lack of sea legs, were now witness to just how bad a seafarer Tom undoubtedly was.

But, while Mary had been solicitous, Matthew who himself was a good seafarer, had been decidedly bemused by the whole business. Having prevailed upon Tom to leave the confines of the First Class Saloon, and take at least one turn around the deck - even Sybil had told Tom that a dose of fresh air might do him some good - a short while later found Matthew and Tom outside on deck, mingling with those other souls brave enough to have ventured topsides.

With the Red Ensign snapping smartly at the stern in the stiff northwest breeze, and a constant cloud of grey smoke flattening from the towering single buff coloured funnel of the steamer, an indication of the strength of the wind, studiously ignoring the sight of the half dozen white painted lifeboats, and with their hands clasped tightly behind their backs, Tom and Matthew strolled towards the bow. Matthew saw, much to his silent amusement, that the Irishman kept his gaze fixed firmly ahead, towards some point in the far distance, visible only, it must be said to Tom alone, and which he himself was convinced marked the welcome sight of the French coast. Only, in fact, it didn't; being of no more substance than a shifting bank of fog.

Having reached the rail overlooking the foredeck, the two men crossed to the starboard side of the ship, turned, and resumed their stroll. And it was while they were slowly, and in Tom"s case, stoically, retracing their steps along the salt bleached boards of 'A' Deck, that Matthew went as far as to say that surely, Tom would feel a great deal better ... if he ate something.

"Look, old chap, what about a cooked breakfast? Sausage, bacon, eggs, toast, pot of tea ... A good meal inside you, why, you'll be as right as rain in no time. You'll see".

"Oh, grand, Matthew!" croaked Tom, and through gritted teeth. "With friends like you, for sure, who needs ..." But Tom never finished what he had been about to say for, at that very moment, encountering an unusually heavy swell, the _Canterbury_ rode hard to starboard, and Matthew's kindly meant suggestion had Tom running for the ship's rail.

A few moments later, with Matthew by his side, Tom stood gazing down morosely at the churning, frothing, grey waters of the English Channel, while his empty stomach heaved its protest, reflecting gloomily that not one of them, not even Sybil, seemed to understand, or have any real sympathy, for his present predicament. In a decidedly self pitying mood, he found himself thinking back to the previous autumn, to one particular Sunday afternoon when Sybil, who at the time had been expecting young Dermot, was sitting quietly at the table in the bay window of their house on Idrone Terrace in Blackrock, writing to Mary; something which, time permitting, she tried to do at least once or twice a month.

* * *

 **Idrone Terrace, Blackrock, Dublin, Irish Free State, October 1932.**

Beyond the walls of the snug little house, here on Idrone Terrace the autumn sky had turned a leaden grey and a blustery, cold, north east October wind was driving stinging squalls of salt laden rain hard against the window panes.

In the sitting room, situated at the front of the house, which so overlooked the sea, Sybil paused in her latest letter to Mary; shook her head in disbelief. How time passed! More than six years had elapsed since the occasion of the Crawleys' one and only visit here to date. That had been back in the summer of 1926, shortly after the end of the General Strike when, bringing with them young Robert, Matthew and Mary had come over to Dublin, and stayed at the Shelbourne Hotel. On the surface at least, the visit had seemed to be no more than what, at first glance, anyone else would have taken it to be: namely a family reunion. Nonetheless, although at the time Tom had said nothing to Sybil, through certain contacts of his own, some of which would no doubt have surprised Matthew, Tom had the inkling that all was not quite as it purported to be.

* * *

 **Idrone Terrace, Blackrock, Dublin, August 1926.**

While Ireland, or at least that part of the island which was now called the Free State, had become independent some four years earlier, in March 1922, nonetheless, that hard won independence was imperfect and in some senses it was very much a case of smoke and mirrors. After all, the Free State remained part of the British Empire and, like it or loathe it, members of the Dáil, however unwillingly they might do so, had still to take their Oath of Allegiance to His Majesty King George V, even if it was dressed up as promise of fidelity. Executive authority was also still vested in the King, with the Governor-General of Ireland as his representative, presently James McNeill, whom, Tom had learned, Matthew was to meet with at the Viceregal Lodge in Phoenix Park; even if his English brother-in-law had chosen to say nothing at all about the forthcoming encounter. Unusually for Tom, he felt it unwise to enquire further; this partly out of politeness, but also because to do so might well jeopardise the identities of his own informants.

Then there was the matter of those three deep water ports, namely at Berehaven, Queenstown, and Lough Swilly which, while now situated in the Free State, were retained for the use of the Royal Navy, that there was no Irish merchant marine ... the Free State being entirely dependent upon British shipping for supplying it with all manner of commodities. And so it went on. Given half a chance, Tom had no doubt whatsoever that Great Britain would, given a suitable pretext, be quite prepared to send its troops back into the Free State as had so nearly happened following the assassination of Sir Henry Wilson back in June 1922.

* * *

When at last Matthew and Mary duly arrived at Tom and Sybil's terraced house, they had done so in a gleaming, maroon-coloured 3-litre Bentley which had drawn a whoop of delight and an approving whistle from young Danny kneeling in the window seat of this same room, impatiently awaiting the arrival of his uncle, aunt, and, rather more importantly, his cousin Robert. The chauffeur driven motor also drew admiring glances from a handful of the Bransons' neighbours gathered in a knot outside on the pavement, who were aware, if only hazily, that Sybil had some kind of connection to the British aristocracy.

Thereafter, while Tom, Matthew and the two boys - darling little Bobby had only just been born - went upstairs to see Danny's clockwork train set, a clearly proud Sybil took Mary on a whirlwind tour of the house, conducting her eldest sister from room to room as if she was the châtelaine of a mansion akin to Downton Abbey, as opposed to the mistress of a modest terraced house situated in a quiet suburb on the south side of Dublin. While Mary did her best to try and be dutifully impressed with all that she was being shown, her comment that the house was "quaint" - as if it was no more than one of Downton's very own tied cottages - did not go down well with Sybil, even if she did her very best to mask her disappointment that Mary could not find something rather more positive to say.

* * *

 **Idrone Terrace, Blackrock, Dublin, October 1932.**

Sybil glanced across the room at Saiorse who, true to form, ever the tomboy, had adopted a most unladylike pose, lying sprawled on her stomach on the rug in front of the blazing fire, swinging her legs in the air, and revealing her knickers in the process.

At times like these, Sybil despaired of her daughter who she saw was reading Danny's latest copy of the _Boy's Own Paper_. The cover - which showed the crew of a bi-plane attacking a lorry - gave some indication of the content, which seemed hardly suitable for Saiorse. However, both Tom and Sybil had brought up all of their children to believe that boys and girls were equal, and that they should not be precluded from doing something simply on account of their sex. Even Danny, much to Tom's horror, thanks to the patience of Alice their housemaid, had learned how to sew buttons back onto his shirts, and was rather better at it than his mother.

So, Sybil bit her tongue and made no comment as to the suitability or otherwise of Saiorse's choice of reading material. Meanwhile, watched by both Bobby and Danny, Tom was sitting quietly in his armchair beside the hearth, repairing one of the little clockwork locomotives which Bobby had inherited from Danny who, now aged all of twelve years, or as he insisted, _nearly thirteen_ , had recently professed himself too old for such toys and promptly passed them over to his younger brother.

As Sybil picked up her pen to resume her letter to Mary, a particularly strong gust of wind hit the house, causing the fire to billow smoke into the room. Momentarily, eyes watered, and Tom made a mental note to himself to arrange for Mr. Murphy, the sweep, to call and see if the flue needed cleaning. Sybil paused once more in her writing to look out at the ever worsening weather. She turned her head, again saw Tom and their children; reflected that if some ten years ago he and she had not dared to defy social convention then this scene of cosy domesticity would never have come to pass. Knew too that the good times they had enjoyed far outweighed the bad and that she wouldn't have missed any of it for the world.

Her and Tom's eyes met over the heads of their children.

Tom nodded; he could read her like a book.

"For sure," he said and smiled. "And?"

"And nothing".

"Lost for inspiration then, are ya?"

"No, not at all".

"So what's your news to Mary?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"I really want to know".

But when Sybil then proceeded to read aloud what she had written, Tom found himself wishing he hadn't asked.

For, in her latest long, breezy, chatty letter, Sybil had, in passing, and decidedly tongue-in-cheek, written to Mary that when, as now, they were all at home in Blackrock and the winter gales were rolling in from off the Irish Sea, just looking at the storm wracked waters of Dublin Bay, even from the comfort and safety of their snug little sitting room, made Tom feel seasick. Now, reading out what she had written to Tom, her levity at his misfortune had gone done like the proverbial lead balloon. Tom did not consider his affliction to be a laughing matter. Indeed, far from it. And what was even more galling was that neither Sybil nor the children suffered from sea sickness.

It remained to be seen if the new baby also grew up likewise unaffected by what the French called the _mal de mer_.

* * *

 **Somewhere high over Hungary, August 1933.**

Continuing to find his experience of flying not only novel but, as time went on, far less stressful than he would have ever imagined it to be, turning in his seat and seeing that Mary was still so obviously nervous, Tom tried his very best to make light of their present situation. He winked; smiled broadly at his aristocratic sister-in-law.

"Grand! Once again just like old times, for sure!" Given the noise from the engine, Tom had to all but shout to make himself heard.

"Really?" Seated beside his wife, Matthew's brow furrowed in bewilderment. Mary, too, was equally all uncomprehending.

"Old times?" she echoed with her legs curled up under her and snuggled against her husband for warmth. While the cabin of the Junkers was equipped with a heater, in the rush of their departure from the landing strip at Rózsafa, it had not been turned on. "I don't see how you can say such a thing". Mary was still worrying over what had happened to Tibor and Micky, whether they had made it safely to where they had been bound, and what had become of Manfred and Eva.

Sensing Mary's sombre mood, Tom took no offence.

"For sure, it is".

Then, seeing the continued look of puzzlement on Matthew's face, as well as the befuddlement on Mary's, realising that neither of them understood what he meant, Tom proceeded to explain. With Wyss and Salvatore sitting up front, the backs of their heads visible from time to time through the glass window set into the bulkhead between the passenger cabin and the cockpit, it was very much as it had been when Tom had been chauffeur to the Crawleys, sitting in the front seat, either of the Renault or else that of one of the other motors the family owned, separated from his passengers by a glass screen, driving Robert around on estate business. Or else Cora, Mary, Edith, and Sybil on short trips down into the village, perhaps into Ripon, let alone further afield as and when the Crawleys were paying one of their seemingly never-ending round of social calls or else attending a dinner party.

"I do begin to see what you mean!" laughed Mary. "Oh, what I wouldn't give to be on my way into Ripon now to take afternoon tea in the Cathedral Tea Rooms! A piping hot pot of good English tea, muffins, and a plate of fancies!"

"And, so you shall, my darling, just as soon as we're back in England. Even if I have to drive you there myself!" Matthew patted his wife's knee reassuringly.

"That's if, with Matthew driving, the two of yous ever manage to arrive there in one piece, for sure!" chuckled Tom. Matthew's love of speed when motoring was well known within the family.

All three of them laughed.

* * *

Beyond the bulkhead, in the half open cockpit, Wyss and Salvatore exchanged grim glances. They were in the position to see what those seated in the cabin behind them could not. Directly ahead of the Junkers the sky had turned an inky black and flashes of fork and sheet lightning rent the sky. They were flying directly into an enormous thunderstorm and what was worse, according to the gauge on the control panel, the oil pressure was dropping. Whether it was simply a problem with the instrument, only time would tell. All the same, there remained the distinct possibility that a stray bullet had damaged the oil feed. If so, it would only be a matter of time before the engine became starved of oil and if that happened, with the Junkers forced down while they were still over Hungary ...

And then, it began to rain heavily; a cold, freezing, penetrating rain, decidedly uncomfortable for the two men in the half open cockpit, which, turned quickly into a vicious storm of hail.

Wyss and Salvatore knew they dared not risk flying through the storm; that their only chance was to take the 'plane down to a much lower altitude but in so doing they would then expose themselves to being seen by those on the ground. Added to which, while by virtue of the terms of the Treaty of Trianon, the Kingdom of Hungary was not supposed to have any aircraft, there were persistent rumours that, since the Allied Military Mission had been disbanded, restrictions of this nature hitherto placed upon the country were being wantonly disregarded. If so, the unarmed Junkers would be nothing short of a sitting target for any fighter 'plane however obsolete it might in fact be.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, several hours later.**

Max grinned.

"The Riesenrad!"

His father nodded.

"Yes, the Riesenrad. Just so".

Danny and Rob looked blankly at each other. What on earth was that?

"Tell them what it is, Papa!" Max urged, sitting perched on the arm of his father's chair, while his two cousins lounged back against the edge of the dining table.

"The Riesenrad is the highest ferris wheel in the world and is in an amusement park called the Prater in Wien - Vienna. Would you like to go for a ride on it?"

For once, this was something of which Danny had not heard but which, because of the Statute Fair held annually every summer in Downton, Rob had.

"Yes please, Uncle Friedrich.

"Then, you shall. Tomorrow".

"Tomorrow?" Max asked.

"Yes, tomorrow".

His father went on to tell them more about the Riesenrad. There were some thirty or so wooden gondolas ...

"What's a gondola?" Danny asked, evidently mystified.

Friedrich explained that it was a small wooden cabin. Apparently, there were some thirty or so attached to the ferris wheel from which, as it turned, magnificent views were to be had over all of Vienna. There were other amusements on offer in the Prater as well. So, given that there were all manner of things to do and to see in the city, including the wild animals in the Tiergarten, the zoo, close to the Schönbrunn Palace, they would catch the morning train from St. Johann into Vienna and make a day of it; just the four of them.

"May we go and eat cake in the Central Café too, Papa?" Max asked, his eyes bright and shining.

Friedrich smiled and tousled his son's sandy hair.

"Possibly!"  
Max grinned.

"That means, yes!" he declared.

His father smiled.

"Very well then, yes. Now, in the meantime, what about us all having a game of cricket?"

* * *

 **Somewhere high over Hungary, a few hours earlier.**

In order to avoid the oncoming hailstorm, Wyss had no alternative but to descend from their present altitude of nearly 12,000 feet and to do so swiftly. Turning his head he looked at Salvatore who, alone of the others on board, understood the reason why the 'plane now had to make such a sudden and sharp descent.

"Sich halten!" Wyss yelled.

Behind them in the cabin, Matthew, Mary, and Tom, while unaware of the reason for it, felt the 'plane first veer violently to the left and then that it was now dropping like a proverbial stone.

Seeing the look of alarm registered on the faces of both Mary and Tom, that they were holding onto their seats, their knuckles clenched, Mary with her eyes tight shut and mouthing a silent prayer, Matthew did his very best to try and reassure them.

"Don't worry, something similar once happened to me during the war. Everything will be just fine, you'll see!"

By their expressions he could see that neither Mary nor Tom shared his sense of certainty but, as Matthew had said, so it proved to be.

A short while later, with the Junkers now at 6,000 feet, which was as low as Wyss dared go - any lower and they would seriously be running the risk of meeting before time with der Heilige Petrus - St. Peter - he brought the 'plane level. Glancing at the gauges, all seemed normal, even that showing the level of the oil pressure.

But, appearances are often deceptive.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, several hours later.**

Friedrich would have been the first to admit that unlike Matthew, or for that matter Tom, he was no cricketer and, try as they might, to make it sound otherwise, the boys' reaction to his suggestion had been rather lukewarm. Nonetheless, to have refused Uncle Friedrich's offer outright would have been rude and a churlish thing to do; the more so because of his promise just made to take the three of them into Vienna on the morrow.

"Grand, for sure," said Danny, his voice deadpan.

"Yes, Uncle Friedrich, if you really want to," replied Robert, his tone just as expressionless.

If Friedrich noticed his nephews' distinct lack of enthusiasm, he gave no sign that he had.

"So, then, boys, where's the bat, the ball, and the pads?"

"The last time we played, after we'd finished, Father and Uncle Tom ..." Robert fell silent; stifled a sob. Saw his brother raise his head; look up at him from where Simon was lying stretched out on his tummy on the flagstones of the terrace along with Saiorse and young Bobby, all still watching the pair of tiny lizards. Seeing Robert was upset, Edith rose quickly to her feet and placed an arm about his shoulders. Blinking back his tears, Robert forced a smile. "I suppose ... I suppose they must be down there". he pointed to the lower garden. "In the summerhouse. That's where Father and Uncle Tom left them, after the last time we all played".

"Let's go and see," said Danny, trying to sound rather more enthusiastic than he felt.

* * *

 **Border of the Kingdom of Hungary and the Republic of Austria.**

Wyss knew that the distant smudge on the horizon must be Wien so therefore ...

Hurriedly, on a scrap of paper, torn from a pocket book, he wrote, in large letters, the single word:-

 **Österreich**

Now rapped smartly on the glass window in the bulkhead between the cockpit and passenger cabin and held up what he had just written.

Matthew glanced up.

"What's it mean?" Tom asked.

"It means old chap, that we've done it! That down there, is Austria!"

* * *

In the cockpit, the elation felt by Wyss and Salvatore that they had crossed the border into Austria quickly evaporated for, once again, the oil pressure was seen to be dropping. And it was clearly not the gauge for the engine began to cough and splutter. Starved of oil, it would soon seize up and the propeller cease to turn. All they could do was pray that enough oil yet remained to prevent that happening, until they could land the Junkers safely as close as maybe to Rosenberg.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, an hour or so later.**

With the game of cricket at last now over, followed by Uncle Friedrich, the three boys were climbing the steps which led up to the terrace from the lower garden when, quite unexpectedly, Max came to a sudden stand. Indeed, so precipitously did he do so that his father all but cannoned into him. Now standing stock still, shading his eyes, Max stood gazing intently at something which had clearly caught his attention.

"What is it, old chap?" asked his father evidently mystified.

"There! Don't you see it?  
"Where? See what?" Friedrich glanced about him, clearly perplexed.

Quite unexpectedly, the chance now came for young Max to make use of the phrase that Danny had taught him.

"Thick as a feckin' plank!" Max whispered, more to himself than for anyone else's benefit. All the same, Danny and Rob dissolved into a fit of giggles. Catching sight of his mother looking up at them from where she had been sitting chatting with Saiorse, while Simon and Bobby were still on their knees on the look out for yet more lizards, Max coloured; he hoped fervently that Mama had not heard what he had just said.

"There, Papa! Over there!"

Grabbing hold of his father's arm, Max pointed excitedly, stabbing the forefinger of his left hand up into the cloudless blue of the morning sky, to where, drawing closer and closer, there could be seen a single winged 'plane, silver in colour, trailing in its wake a pall of thick black smoke. To those gathered out here on the terrace, it was obvious that the monoplane was rapidly losing altitude, so that at times it was all but skimming the tops of the distant trees.

The 'plane was even lower now; scarce fifty or so feet from off the ground.

Friedrich shook his head in a mounting disbelief.

"No, surely not. Whoever it is, he can't be intending to try and land down there in the meadow ..."

Hearing the sound of bells, Friedrich glanced towards the green, onion domed spire of the church of St. Florian which stood just beyond the meadow of wild flowers, at the far end of the drive which led up to the house from the road leading down to the station at St. Johann. Ominously, the church bells now began to clang most dolorously. While it was only to announce the celebration of a Low Mass, the discordant, mournful sound of their jangling could not have come at a more inopportune moment.

Everyone, adults and children alike, were now on their feet, staring incredulously at the incoming aeroplane which, as it swept across in front of them, smoke pouring from the engine cowling, was now so low that they could make out the two men seated in the half open cockpit with its crazed windshield and, equally ominously, that both the fuselage and wings were riddled with bullet holes.

Edith's hand flew to her mouth in consternation.

"Oh my God! It's Conrad!"

* * *

Moments later, in a series of bumps and short bounces, the 'plane had landed safely in the field; the two men in the cockpit hurriedly clambering out onto the wing, and pulling open the door of the passenger cabin. At the same time, all those on the terrace set off down the steps, making for the meadow, Max, followed closely by both Danny and Robert, leading the way. In their wake came Friedrich, Edith and the other three children, all of them hurrying across the greensward of the meadow with its carpet of wild flowers, towards where the silver coloured monoplane was now at a stand, with a pall of black smoke continuing to pour from its engine.

* * *

As the door of the aeroplane's cabin swung open, the very first to emerge was Mary, followed swiftly in turn by Matthew, and then lastly by Tom; all of them looking decidedly dishevelled. Not that that seemed to bother them in the slightest, not even the aristocratic, always immaculately attired Mary, and certainly not those here to meet them. On seeing their parents and father emerging from the cramped cabin of the 'plane, Robert, Simon, Danny, Saiorse, and Bobby let out a collective whoop of delight that that was probably heard in Vienna.

* * *

Having been helped down from off the wing by Wyss, as Mary walked slowly forward across the grass, seeing her two boys, she opened wide her arms. Robert and Simon needed no second bidding and ran to meet her. Mary hugged both of them to her tightly; noting at the same time that Simon had one of his arms held fast in a sling.

"What's happened to you?" his mother asked, clearly concerned.

"It's nothing, really, Mama," Simon said dismissively.

"Si' was really, really brave, Mama!" exclaimed Robert. His mother nodded, choosing to ignore Robert's use of the diminutive of Simon's Christian name; something which she normally deplored.  
"Were you my darling?"

Simon looked up in astonishment at his mother. Never, could he recall her calling him _darling,_ and if she had, it had not been in public.

"Then, my darling," - there it was again - "you must tell your father and me all about it. But, not now, I think. Later, when we've had a chance to freshen up. Promise me now".

"I promise, Mama," Simon said solemnly.

"Promise you what?" asked Matthew, now also catching sight of Simon's bandaged arm.

"He's going to tell us all about what happened to him, but later. Aren't you, my darling?"  
"Er, well, yes, I suppose I am!" Simon grinned, as in turn his father too hugged him tightly.

"Are you really all right, father?" asked Robert, holding out his right hand in formal greeting.

"Come here old chap!" Disregarding Robert's outstretched hand, Matthew pulled his eldest son to him in a bruising bear hug. "Yes, no real harm done, I think. But it was all a damned close run thing!" Matthew chuckled.

"Well, I suppose that's one way of putting it!" laughed Mary.

The two boys exchanged glances; this was not the Mama they had come to know.

Matthew glanced back at the aeroplane; took in the smoke pouring from the engine and the savage peppering of bullet holes. "Good God, it looks like a bloody colander".

Ignoring Matthew's use of language, Mary laughed.

"Yes, I rather suppose it does!"

* * *

"What's all this, for sure?" asked Tom hugging his three children to him in the warmest of embraces, while at the same time casting an enquiring eye over Danny's still bandaged head.

"Danny fell and hit his head, out at the Old Tower," explained Saiorse. "Not that it knocked any sense into him, for sure!"

"And I love ya too, sis!" growled Danny.

"I had to go for help," Bobby added and with evident pride.

"I see. Or rather I don't. But yous can tell me all about it back at the house".

* * *

Having welcomed both Wyss and Salvatore, being profuse in their thanks for the part they had played in rescuing their loved ones from an uncertain fate, Friedrich and Edith now moved to greet the others whereupon there followed a succession of repeated handshakes, warm embraces, and tears of joy.

"Dearest Tom, we were all so very, very worried".

"So was I, for sure!"

Edith thought Tom sounded somewhat abstracted. She saw he was looking about him; which was perfectly understandable. After all, the one, single person he would have expected to be here to greet him was conspicuous by her absence.

* * *

Tom was beginning to worry. Something must have happened, otherwise Sybil would have ...

"Tom, darling ..."

"Where is she? Where's Sybil? What's happened?""

"She's fine, Tom. Nothing's happened. I think she said something about going to the chapel".

"To the chapel, for sure?"

Edith nodded.

"Yes. Kleist will show you the way".

Tom didn't need to be told twice; leaving the children and the others to follow, he set off at a run across the meadow and towards the distant house.

* * *

"Darling, I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but I lost your hat," said Mary as, arm in arm with Edith, the two of them walked together up the steps leading to the terrace.  
"My hat?"  
"I mean the one you bought me; in that very fetching shade of mauve".

"Oh, no matter, I can always buy you another".

 _Over my dead body_ thought Mary. All the same, she smiled sweetly at Edith.

"I must look a positive fright".

"You don't look any different to me than you usually do".

"How kind of you to say so".

"My pleasure".

"So, do I always look like I've been dragged through a hedge backwards?"

"No, not at all. That wasn't what I meant".

Mary smiled.

"I know you didn't. I'll let you into a secret".

"Which is?"

"What I want most of all ..."

"You said it a moment ago: a long hot bath".

"I did but in a funny old sort of a way, I lied. Because, what I'd really like .. is a nice cup of tea. Do you think ..."  
"Of course. I'll tell Kleist directly".

Letting go of her sister's arm, Edith hurried away across the terrace and disappeared inside the house. Behind her, Mary paused; waited for the others to catch her up. She looked about her. If the truth be told, she had always been so very envious of Edith's beautiful home but now ... Lord, how good it was to be back.

Unseen, frightened by all the footsteps, once again the two lizards disappeared from sight down a crack between the flags.

* * *

In answer to Tom's question, Kleist had nodded towards the passage leading to the chapel.

"Grand, for sure".

* * *

 **Family Chapel, Rosenberg, Lower Austria.**

Even when she was a child Sybil had never been particularly religious. However, when she was deemed old enough to do so, along with her grandmother, parents, and sisters, having been driven down into the village first in the family carriage and later by motor - this was long before Tom became chauffeur at Downton - each and every Sunday morning Sybil had dutifully taken her place in the family pew up in the chancel of St. Mary's parish church. There she knelt to say her prayers, stood to sing a succession of well known hymns - she liked them for their melodies alone - or else sat staring up at the roof, looking at the brightly coloured stained glass window directly opposite where she herself was seated, while up in his pulpit Reverend Travis, or betimes a visiting clergyman, droned on and on about hellfire and damnation.

As she grew older, more and more, Sybil came to question the tenets of her religious faith; this made easier by the fact that they were not that deeply rooted in the first place. Thereafter, as a nurse, having seen with her own eyes the horror and suffering inflicted during the four long years of the Great War, Sybil found herself doubting that God existed at all. How could He and permit so much agony and suffering? Men shot, gassed, blown apart by shells, with hideous wounds, as a result of which some were scarcely even men any more; male in but name only. When she had asked Reverend Travis about where was God in all of this, he had mumbled something unintelligible about a Just War, the Greater Good, and that all the killing and the maiming, dreadful as it undoubtedly was, were all part of God's plan.

Sybil had not been convinced.

Any lingering shreds of religious belief she might yet have still harboured, she had long since discarded; this on account of the bigotry and hatred she had encountered in Ireland both before and after the establishment of the Free State.

Now, on this bright summer's morning, here in the incense ridden, gilded opulence, of the ornate chapel at Rosenberg, on her knees before an altar for the first time in a long while, Sybil begged a God in Whom she did not believe for the life of her husband.

But answer there came none.

* * *

The candles guttered.

There must be a draught.

Nothing more than that.

Like all old houses, Rosenberg was privy to them.

* * *

Again the candles flickered.

And this time, out of the corner of her eye, Sybil thought she saw ... she knew not what. Clearly a figment of her frayed nerves; either that or else an overwrought imagination. For, when she turned her head, there was nothing to be seen.

The silence was completely unbroken.

Somewhere behind her a door creaked.

Not that Sybil paid it any attention. Prey to draughts, old houses often made noises.

And then, from out of the shadows, there came a lilting Irish voice.

"Now that I'm back ... I find myself wondering how on earth are we going to spend our time?"

With a cry that was heard throughout the house, Sybil turned. A moment later, and she was in Tom's arms.

 **Author's Note:**

The _S.S. Canterbury,_ actually the _TSS Canterbury_ _(_ for Turbine Steel Steamship _)_ was a ferry built in 1929 by the Southern Railway to link the Golden Arrow and la Flèche d'Or expresses running on the prestigious London-Dover-Calais-Paris service. By the time of the story, the steamer accommodated both First and Second Class passengers. There were only six lifeboats because the status of the ship's clientele meant that there were never more than 300-400 passengers.

 _topsides_ \- the upper part of a ship.

Red Ensign - the flag flown from the stern of a British registered merchant ship.

James McNeill (1869-1938) was the second Governor-General of the Irish Free State.

The B.E.2 was a British built two-seater bi-plane which by late 1915 was proving no match for German fighters such as the new _Fokker Eindeckers._ No wonder Matthew was nearly shot down!

Tied cottage - a small property belonging to a country estate, at this period often not in the best state of repair.

By this date (1933) the Riesenrad was indeed the world's tallest ferris wheel; others which were larger having been demolished. It would retain this title until 1985 when a taller wheel was erected in Japan.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty Eight

Reunion

 **Family Chapel, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

Here, in the cool dimness of the ornate chapel, it was, without doubt, a scene of which the carved, polychromatic, wingèd putti, their little brows garlanded with small wreaths of blue and white plaster flowers, clustered around the bases of the tall, gilded candlesticks on the altar, had never seen the like. Nor, indeed, to be truthful had the myriad of equally wingèd cherubs, cavorting in riotous, smiling abandon for all Eternity across the richly painted ceiling of the elaborately decorated chapel.

A man with a lopsided grin and a pretty dark haired woman, hands caressing, clutching, touching, clasped in a passionate embrace, he holding her tight as in her dreams.

"Did ya miss me?" Tom asked with a grin when finally they broke apart.

"Now, **that** would be telling ..." Sybil smiled contentedly and rested her head against his shoulder.

"For sure?"

She looked up, his mouth found hers, and another lingering kiss followed.

Her eyes glistened with tears.

"Perhaps ..."

"Judging by that, I t'ink ya did," he said softly.

"Do you now? Maybe. Just a little!" Sybil laughed.

Another kiss followed; as perduring as the one before.

"Only _just a little_?" Tom managed to contrive to sound aggrieved. He drew back, cupped her chin with his hands and studied her face. Sybil slid her arms around his neck; pulled him close once again.

"Tom, hold me".

"In Hungary, women were asking me that all the time!" He grinned mischieviously.

Sybil arched a brow.

"Were they now? My, my but you're very full of yourself this morning, Mr. Branson".

"Why wouldn't I be, when I've come home to ya?"

"There's no answer to that!" Sybil laughed, kissing him full on the mouth.

They broke apart again.

Her fingers caressed both sides of his jaw.

"Yes, I know, I need a shave," Tom said ruefully, feeling his own jawline. "And a bath and a change of clothes. But first, what I'd like more than anything is for you and I to ..." He leaned in for yet another kiss; whispered deep in Sybil's left ear what it was he had in mind.

" **Tom**!"

"Don't you play the innocent with me, you little wanton!"  
"Wanton, am I?"

"For sure!""  
"Well, I might surprise you with just how _wanton_ I can be!"

"Grand!" He laughed. It was, thought Sybil, so very good to hear that sound. Then Tom became serious.

"So, tell me now, what about the children?"

"They missed you most terribly, of course. But ..."  
"But what?"  
"Well, we decided it was for the best to keep the fact that there was any sort of problem over there in Hungary from the younger ones. We wanted to avoid having to tell them anything at all, at least until there was ... no alternative. If you follow what I mean. Danny, Saiorse, Robert, and Max were told that things had gone awry but even then not the full extent of what had happened. I doubt that they'd have understood it anyway that however unwittingly, you'd become mixed up in an attempted coup against the Regent of Hungary. But this was on the strict understanding that they didn't breathe a word of what they'd been told to the others. I must say I was very proud of Danny and Saiorse - keeping quiet about it all, as did Robert, and Max. It can't have been easy for any of them, especially Robert - with both his parents over there".

"No, for sure". Tom nodded in agreement. It made eminent sense for the adults, waiting anxiously here at Rosenberg for news, to have done as they had.

"Was it all so terribly awful?"

Again Tom nodded.

Now, of course, was not the time to speak of what had happened. Later, maybe. But even then, there were, perhaps, some things best left unsaid. Nonetheless, Sybil's question demanded an answer possessing some degree of candour.

"Not all. But there were moments ..."  
"Moments," Sybil echoed.

"When I thought ..."

Tom swallowed hard.

Unbidden, here in the most unlikely of settings, within the incense laden, opulent magnificence of Rosenberg's Baroque chapel, there reared unpleasantly before Tom's eyes the image of himself forced to his knees on the damp grass of the airstrip with Fergal's pistol aimed directly at his forehead; Mary subjected to the lascivious, lecherous attentions of a group of licentious Hungarian soldiery ...

"Thought what?" Sybil's question served to dispel the ugly vision and jolt Tom back to the present.  
"That ..."  
"That?"  
"... I might never see you, nor the children, ever again".

Tom rested his head against her shoulder. For a moment neither of them spoke. He raised his head

"Hush now". Sybil placed a forefinger gently to his lips. "Don't think of it. You've come back to us. You're safe now. That's all that matters". Tom nodded. While not entirely true, as was so often the case, Sybil had the right of it. Again he nodded. So, now, think of something else.

"I see our Danny's been in the wars. And, he's quite the young man now! He'll be needing his first razor ere long!"

Sybil smiled; aware that Tom had noticed, as had she, that Danny's voice had now broken. But if that was so then ...

"You've **seen** him?"  
"For sure! All three of them. They were down there, in the meadow, to meet us, when the 'plane landed".

"Plane? So you did come back by ..."

Tom nodded.

"I tell ya about all of that later. But, yes, everyone was there. The whole family. Save for the one person I wanted to see most of all".  
"Tom, I ..."

Sybil moved forward into the warm circle of his arms but then, before she could say anything further by way of reply, the door of the chapel creaked, swung open, and there in the doorway, framed against the light, stood Danny, Saiorse, and Bobby.

"Ma!" yelled Danny excitedly. "Ya'll never guess what! Da's ..." Then, in the dimness at the far end of the chapel, seeing his beloved Da with his arms around Ma, Danny fell silent.

"I rather expect I might!"

"Grand, ya've found Ma!" cried Saiorse.

"How did ya know where she was, Da?" Bobby piped; his voice just as gleeful as Danny's, but, in his case, high pitched.  
Tom laughed.

"Your Aunt Edith told me where she might be. So, I came in here in search of her. Now, come here the three of yous!"

Letting go of Sybil, Tom opened wide his arms. As with Robert and Simon, so too with the Branson children. Needing no second bidding, all three running pell mell down the full length of the chapel, straight into their parents' outstretched arms. In the happiest of reunions, a welter of hugs and kisses now followed. Eventually, when these had run their course, Tom enquired of the one member of the family not present.

"Dermot?"

Sybil nodded.  
"Oh, he's absolutely fine. Like Kurt, fast sleep upstairs, in the care of Nanny Bridges".

"Grand".

Tom leaned in and gave her another quick kiss.

"Oh, away with yous! Do yous two have to?" Saiorse shook her head; metaphorically raised her eyes to the ceiling, in a clear display of exasperation.

"Have to what?" Tom chose to be arch.

"Keep kissing, Ma. And in public, too!"

"I do for sure! Anyway, what's wrong with me kissing your Ma?" In part to prove what he had just said, Tom gave Sybil another peck on the cheek.

"Olive O'Brien told me that her Da **never** kisses her Ma!" Saiorse announced flatly.

"Really? Well, now, having seen Mrs O'Brien for myself, I can't say that I'm that surprised. Why, even the tide wouldn't take her out!" Hearing this definitive pronouncement from Da on the unappealing nature of Mrs. O'Brien, Danny did his best to stifle a snigger; failed miserably in the attempt and, instead, let out an explosive snort that seemed to echo around the walls of the chapel.

" **Tom**! And as for you, young man ..." Sybil shook her head in disbelief, first at her husband and then at her eldest son. All the same, she knew that what Tom had said was true enough. Sadly, Mrs. O'Brien was not blessed with good looks, was said to have a fearsome temper, and by common consent, treated her, clearly hen pecked husband, with open contempt.

Tom swung back to Saiorse.

"Now then miss, what ya said a moment ago ... about me kissing your Ma? Well, among the many promises I made her when we married was that I would love her. And while it's true, enough that kissing's not a legal requirement of being married, I t'ink your Ma would be very hurt indeed if I didn't kiss her. And often!" Tom gave Sybil a sly wink. She in turn played along.

"You're damned right, Mr. Branson, I would!"

The children laughed; all, even seven year old Bobby, being well aware of just how much their parents loved each other and, equally, how much they in turn were loved.

"Well, now, I t'ink it's about time we went and found the others, don't yous?"

A moment later, arm in arm and _en famille_ , the Bransons had quitted the ornate chapel, leaving it to slumber on under the watchful eyes of the winged putti and the ever playful cherubs.

* * *

 **Entrance Hall, Rosenberg, but a short while earlier.**

Alerted to what had happened, leaving one of the housemaids to sit with little Kurt and Dermot who were fast asleep in their cots in the nursery, Nanny Bridges had brought young Rebecca downstairs to meet her parents. Not that the little girl really understood what all the fuss was about. When they were at home in Downton, Papa and Mama were often away and, at least for the present, played an inconsequential role in Rebecca's own little world. Yet, today, even she sensed something was different with Mama covering her face with kisses, saying how pretty she looked in her new dress, and to Rebecca's delight, Papa hoisting her up onto his shoulders, giving her, had she known the word, a grandstand view of the entire family's joyful reunion.

With everyone else now having reached the house, and with arrangements swiftly put in hand for baths to be run, as well as changes of clothes found for both Wyss and Salvatore, true to form, young Max presently sporting Conrad's leather flying helmet and goggles, while delighted to see both his uncles and aunt safely back here at Rosenberg, was now ruthlessly plying a clearly exhausted Wyss and Salvatore with all manner of questions appertaining to the F13; so much so that Friedrich was forced to intervene and call a halt.

"Max, my boy, enough! Uncle Conrad and his pal will tell you all you want to know about the Junkers but not now. Later when they've both had a chance to recover".

His face flecked with oil and specks of blood from small cuts caused by fragments of flying glass from the shattered windshield, Conrad smiled warmly at Max.

"It's all right, Friedrich". Conrad reached forward and chucked the boy under his chin. "I do know just how much this young man is fascinated by anything to do with aeroplanes. And yes, we'll talk later, old chap, I promise".  
"Really? Yes, please, Uncle Conrad!" Max could hardly contain his excitement.

"Then, it's a deal!"

To the amusement of one and all, the two promptly sealed their agreement with a spit in their palms, followed by a firm handshake.

A moment later, with the Bransons having rejoined everyone else here in Rosenberg's magnificent entrance hall, after several days of anxious waiting, the family's reunion was now, finally, complete.

* * *

 **Southeast Hungary, summer 1933.**

About the very time that the Junkers touched down in the flower strewn meadow at Rosenberg, with Micky and Dévaj still seated beside him Tibor was driving the battered old truck into the dusty courtyard of the abbey where having sought a hurried audience with the abbot, and with the assistance of the monks, the wounded were carefully stretchered down from off the lorry, and carried into the infirmary. Here they were washed, fed, tended, and made far more comfortable than had been the case in the back of the bouncing lorry, with one of the brothers dispatched post haste to summon the local doctor back to the abbey. For, as Tibor now learned, they were not the first rebel soldiers fleeing the fighting further north to make it thus far south.

* * *

A short while later, having quitted the abbey, Tibor, Micky, and Dévaj, along with those who had remained on the truck, at last reached the temporary safety afforded by the Waldsteins' summer residence, where Micky was reunited with his desperately worried parents, from whom it was now learned that the main rebel force around Szentes had been routed.

Of more import was the fact that the government troops sent in pursuit of those defending the bridge had ended up chasing shadows. For while the principal residence of the Waldsteins, Erdőtelek, lay to the north, the estate had once been much larger. Like Rózsafa, it had been severely reduced in size following the annexation of Transylvania by the Kingdom of Roumania, leaving a smaller, isolated parcel of land some distance away to the south, on which stood the family's summer residence.

With two estates possessed of the same name, save but for a suffix which was very often overlooked, both of which belonged to the same family, the inevitable had happened. Unfamiliar with the area, the troops charged with apprehending the rebels had wasted much time and effort heading north when they should have been proceeding south. Everyone knew this to be but a temporary reprieve; that sooner or later, the Regent's soldiers would come calling. This notwithstanding, despite Tibor's protestations that he would not risk endangering the family, who, after all, were his own distant kin, the Waldsteins were insistent: Tibor and his men must be given a meal and then allowed to rest. Meanwhile, one of their servants would ride back up the road and keep watch.

* * *

 **Tom and Sybil's bedroom, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, sometime later.**

Now freshly bathed and shaved, wearing nothing more than a towel, Tom came out of the bathroom into the bedroom where, with something approaching a sense of déjà vu, he stopped dead in his tracks. Although it was just after midday, the shutters had been closed, and the room was in complete darkness. If only for the briefest moment, Tom found himself thinking back to the scene which had played out at Rózsafa a matter of but a couple of days or so ago when for whatever reason, Unity Mitford had done her very best to try and seduce him. But, there, thankfully, any similarity with the present, and what had happened at Rózsafa, ended.

"A wanton, am I," purred a female voice from out of the darkness. A moment later, the lamp beside the bed snapped on ... to reveal Sybil posing as an odalisque, wearing the nightdress which Tom had bought for her in a small shop situated in a back street not far from the Sacré-Cœur in Montmartre in Paris, while they were _en route_ here to Austria. Made of pale blue silk, the nightdress was diaphanous, all but translucent, and when she wore it, clung to every sensuous curve of Sybil's beautiful body.

Tom swallowed hard; found himself feeling quite light headed which, circumstances being as they were, together with the fact that a large amount of his blood had of its own accord suddenly rushed southwards, was quite understandable. He caught sight of Sybil eyeing his throbbing erection with undisguised interest.

"I think we need to do something about that, before it goes to waste, don't you?" she asked huskily, her lips pursed and slightly apart. In a trice she threw back the covers to reveal that she wasn't wearing a stitch, the nightdress merely having been artfully placed over her body beneath the bed clothes.

For a minute, Tom simply savoured the view; gazing on the vision of loveliness reclining before him on the bed.

Jaysus!

Unconsciously, he moistened his dry lips with the tip of his tongue.

"Now, come here, Tom".

How Sybil contrived it he knew not, but her voice seemed to have taken on a tone that was sultry; full of Eastern promise. He watched silently as, leaving none of her physical charms to the imagination, she moved languidly before him, lips pouting, clasping her hands behind her head, and stretching out her long, slender legs. "And Tom, darling, one thing more ..."

When, finally, he found his voice, it was reduced to little more than a husk of a whisper, and he all but stammered.

"Y ... yes?"

"You won't be needing that towel".

* * *

 **Erdőtelek Estate, southeast Hungary, several hours later.**

Following the release of himself and his men from the barn, learning what had happened, that those sent in pursuit of the fleeing rebels had been chasing shadows, Fergal was livid, this news coming as it did after the attempted seduction of Branson by the Mitford bitch had failed to bear fruit, the humiliation which Fergal and his men had been put to at the hands of Crawley and Csáky, let alone the failure by a hand picked agent to deal with Schönborn across the border in Austria. Now, to cap it all, came the final ignominy: the escape of Branson and the Crawleys from right under their very noses. Someone would pay for this series of blunders.

However, if Branson and the Crawleys were presently beyond reach, then, for the time being at least, Captain Csáky would do very well by way of a substitute. And when word came as to the whereabouts of Csáky, Fergal wasted no time. Accompanied by a fresh detachment of soldiers and who knew the district, Fergal set off in pursuit of this so far elusive quarry.

* * *

His horse lathered with sweat, the Waldsteins' servant, clearly terror stricken, his face ashen, all but slid from off his saddle; stammered out the awful news that soldiers were coming down the road from the north.

* * *

 **Main Staircase, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, a couple of hours before.**

After their love-making, having shared a bath together, then dressed and made themselves presentable, arm-in-arm, in high spirits, Tom and Sybil came out onto the landing of the main staircase ready to go down to luncheon which, taking advantage of the fine spell of weather, Edith had said would be served to everyone, adults and children alike, out on the terrace.

At the top of the stairs, Tom paused; swiftly placed a forefinger to his lips.

"What is it?" Sybil asked, keeping her voice low.

"Down there," Tom whispered. He nodded towards the foot of the stairs where, waiting for the Bransons to join them, Matthew and Mary, likewise equally well refreshed, believing themselves to be alone and unobserved, were enjoying a passionate kiss. Hearing footsteps from above, self-consciously, they quickly broke apart. Looking up, on seeing who it was, and catching sight of the expressions on the faces of both Tom and Sybil, Matthew laughed out loud.

"You two look very pleased with yourselves!"

Tom grinned.

"Perhaps! And judging by yous two a moment ago, I be t'inking I could be saying very much the same t'ing!"

" **Tom**!" exclaimed Sybil.

Mary shook her head in disbelief; then smiled. When Matthew and Tom were together they were, like as not, incorrigible, at times given to behaving like a pair of overgrown schoolboys. However, given what the three of them had just been through, Mary couldn't find it within her to be annoyed. Indeed, quite the reverse. It seemed, thank God, that some things never changed.

And so, arm-in-arm, laughing and joking, the two couples went happily in search of the rest of the family.

* * *

 **Terrace, Rosenberg, later that same day.**

Replete after a very good meal, out here on the terrace,Tom was seated once more in his favourite wicker chair. Linking his fingers behind his head, he sighed, and gazed up at the afternoon sky. Like Sybil, he had little belief in the existence of a Divine Creator but, all the same, thank ... thank God, that the three of them were back here safe and sound. The nightmare was over.

Well, almost.

For there remained, of course, to learn, if possible, what had become of Tibor and young Micky Waldstein; let alone their erstwhile hosts at Rózsafa - Manfred and Eva. To this end, after luncheon, at Mary's insistent urging, Matthew went inside to place a telephone call to the British Embassy in Budapest. However, as he explained later, long after the children were in bed, when he had at last been connected, his attempt to speak with Viscount Chilston had met with a polite but nonetheless firm refusal on the part of some minor functionary - an attaché no less - to whom his call had been passed. Regrettably, the Ambassador was unable to speak to Lord Grantham.

All the same, Matthew had persisted in his endeavours.

No, His Excellency was not indisposed. Nor, for that matter, was he playing a round of golf; this observation constituted a surprising attempt at levity on the part of a member of the Legation staff who were not known for their sense of humour. Letting slip too, what, presumably, he should not, for which, were it to become known that he had done so, the young attaché might well find himself carpeted and recalled to London post haste. Chilston had been summoned to the Royal Palace, for an audience with Admiral Horthy.

At least the attaché had the good sense to say nothing further but, all the same, Matthew was left with the distinct impression that somehow the audience with the Regent concerned Mary, Tom, and himself, the unorthodox nature of their departure from the Kingdom of Hungary, in an aeroplane acquired in surreptitious circumstances across the border in Roumania, which had then been flown into Hungary by stealth. To say nothing of the part Matthew himself had played in organising the spirited, if in the end, singularly futile, defence of the bridge between Rózsafa and the airstrip, against an attack mounted by forces loyal to the Regent himself.

After Matthew, it was the turn of Friedrich to place a telephone call - in his case, once again, to Mihail Moruzov, head of the Serviciul Special de Informații in distant Bucharest. Like Chilston, Moruzov was unavailable but his secretary promised faithfully that Friedrich's call would be returned, just as soon as Moruzov himself came back from a meeting with the Prime Minister, Vaida-Voievod.

With Matthew and Friedrich having resumed their seats, the adults, save for Wyss and Salvatore who had gone back down to the meadow to begin repairs to the Junkers, and the children sat listening spellbound, as Matthew, Mary, and Tom told something of the time they had spent in Hungary. However, as Friedrich, Edith, and Sybil were only too well aware, certain matters would not be spoken of until much later, after the children were in bed.

So, they heard tell instead of the sights and sounds of Budapest, of the mighty Danube, of the Royal Palace and the Coronation Church with its colourful roof, both perched high up on the Var, of the rattling, yellow painted trams and the clattering Underground, of the crowded coffee houses and the elegant villas on Andrássy út, of the bustling streets and squares, with Mary explaining how it was she had first encountered Tibor Csáky by all but falling at his feet. Quite out of character, by telling the story against her, Mary made everyone laugh; not that she seemed to mind in the slightest. They heard too of the long journey southwards, across the Alföld, of the immensity of it, of the little farms, of the snorting water buffaloes and flocks of long horned sheep, and the creaking arms of the sweep wells, of which Uncle Manfred had spoken. Then, of their arrival at last at Rózsafa, of the house itself, of the Mezőhegyes English full blood horses, while Tom's account of the antics of Unity Mitford, while, for now he did not go into the details of her attempted seduction, brought the house down.

"I'm glad all of yous find it so amusing! A right little hussy, she was!"

"Hussy? Are you quite certain she wasn't a wanton?" Sybil asked straight faced.

Tom chuckled.

"Quite, for sure!"

"Da?"  
"Yes, Bobby?"  
"What's a hussy?"

"Ask your Ma!"

"Da?"  
"Yes, son?"  
"What's a wanton?"  
"Like I just said, son, ask your Ma!"

" **Tom**!"

Tom grinned and deftly changed the subject.

* * *

"So then, tell me about what happened out at ... where did yous say it was again?"  
"The Old Tower," put in Saiorse helpfully. " **They** weren't supposed to go in there. Uncle Friedrich told them not to," she added primly.

"Shut it, sis". Danny glared at Saiorse, who, as was her wont, promptly stuck out her tongue.

"Danny and Rob wanted to see the eagle, Da," added Bobby eagerly.

"Did they now? An eagle, for sure?"  
"Yes, that's right, Uncle Tom," said Simon, nodding his head.

"And the Old Tower?"  
"A watchtower, centuries old, now ruinous. My grandfather put in a cast iron staircase and used it as a viewing platform," explained Friedrich. "Since Danny and Simon's mishap, I've had the entrance properly sealed".

"I see. So, what happened?" Tom looked to the boys for further enlightenment. "Presumably, yous didn't heed Uncle Friedrich's warning ... about not going inside?"

"Well, er ... no," replied Danny who, along with Robert, glanced nervously at Uncle Friedrich. To the boys' great relief, he merely smiled.

"It's all right, I expect your fathers got up to all kinds of mischief when they were younger". Their uncle nodded in the direction of both Matthew and Tom. "I know I did". At this startling revelation, young Max's ears pricked up. This was a side of his beloved Papa of which he had never heard tell.

"Did you, Papa? What did you do?" Max asked, eager to learn more. Friedrich tapped the side of his nose.

"Never you mind, young man".

Max smiled. He had learnt what the gesture meant from Danny and Rob. But, seeing Max look somewhat crestfallen, his father relented. "Well, rather like someone else who shall remain nameless ... trying to learn how to ride a bicycle ... when I had been forbidden to do so!"

Max gulped. Papa, and probably Mama, knew too much. His father laughed and his next words confirmed Max's fears.

"My boy, there's very little you do that escapes our notice! Don't look so worried, my father, your Austrian grandfather, said very much the same thing to me". Max grinned. He would dearly have liked to have asked what other boyish misdeeds his father had committed; wanted to ask too about Grandpapa Leopold, of whom his father rarely if ever spoke. But, even at ten years old, Max had the good sense to realise that now was not the time. He could ask Papa about Grandpapa Leopold later.

Matthew grinned.

"Who me?" he asked, managing to contrive to sound horrified by Friedrich's suggestion. "Why, when I was a boy, I was as good as gold. Any assertion to the contrary amounts to character assassination!"

"What's ass ... assass ... the word you just said, mean, father?" Simon asked, sitting beside his mother, her right arm placed comfortably around his shoulders, and holding him close.

Matthew laughed.

"Your uncle's casting doubt on my good name and reputation; but only in fun".

"Oh!" Simon grinned. What Uncle Friedrich had said had to have been a joke because, both in and around Downton, Simon knew his father to be well respected by servants, tenants, and villagers alike.

* * *

Had he known another word, in the unlikely event of someone having asked him, Simon would have said also that he could never recall his parents being so _relaxed_ in company, with himself sitting beside his mother, her arm about his shoulders, Rebecca seated in her lap, and Robert perched on the arm of her chair - something which would never have been permitted when they were at home at Downton - both he and Simon asking all manner of questions which, on any other occasion they would never have dared to do.

Quite what it was that had changed or why it had come to pass, Simon couldn't tell, but something was different. Whatever it was, he really didn't care, so long as things stayed just as they were now. Not because his brother, sister, and he were not loved; they were, devotedly, both by Papa and Mama. Just as Danny, Saiorse, Bobby, and little Dermot were loved by Uncle Tom and Aunt Sybil, and Max and young Kurt by Uncle Friedrich and Aunt Edith.

But father was so often up to his eyes in the business of running Downton; along with his work for the League of Nations, which betimes took him abroad; while, hitherto, Mama had always been such a stickler for good manners, being properly dressed, sitting up straight, speaking when spoken to, using the right knife and fork, and so forth. In a nutshell, _doing the right thing._ However, at least for the time being, that seemed to have gone by the board.

All the same, what mattered most to Simon, and he supposed to his siblings and cousins too, was that here within the family circle now assembled, they were loved and kept safe from the world that now fast was unfolding beyond the confines of Rosenberg, Idrone Terrace, and Downton Abbey.

* * *

"So, no misspent time in your dim and distant past, eh, Matthew?" A real goody two shoes then, for sure!" chuckled Tom.

"That, I doubt!" laughed Mary.

Matthew laughed too.

"Not that dim and distant, if you please. And I'll have you know, I had my moments. After all, in a city like Manchester ... Anyway, Tom, I expect you got up to all sorts of mischief over there in Dublin!"

"Did ya, Da?" asked Bobby, wide eyed.

"No, son, of course not. Just like your Uncle Matthew here, I was as good as gold, for sure!"

"Were ya really, Da?" persisted Bobby.

"Never you mind," said his father.

"I seem to recall hear tell of you riding on trains without buying a ticket!" laughed Mary.

"Did ya, Da?" Bobby asked.  
Tom nodded.

"But why Da? What if the Garda had caught ya?" Bobby's lower lip trembled, so much so, that Tom pulled the little boy to him and sat Bobby on his knee".

"Shall I let ya into a secret?"  
Bobby nodded.

"The Garda didn't exist back then!"

"Oh!" Bobby's eyes grew very wide.

"And what about the time you came back to Downton without a ticket?" laughed Mary.

"Did ya Da?" Bobby asked.

Tom nodded.

"When, Da?"  
"Before ya were born, Button. I hadn't the money for the fare but see, when I told the guard I was on my way to Downton to see Danny and your Ma, right away he stopped the train for me and and let me off without paying".

"Really?" Mary raised a disbelieving brow. "I seem to remember Papa, who was a Director of the North Eastern Railway Company, receiving a telephone call from the Company Chairman concerning a passenger - His Lordship's son-in-law no less - who had failed to pay his fare and Papa reimbursing the railway to avoid a scandal!"

"He did? Well, I never knew that! Good for old Robert!"

Everybody laughed.

* * *

Of course, young Max was agog to learn all about the flight which had brought his uncles and aunt back here to Rosenberg. While matters such as atmospheric pressure, mean wind speed, fuel consumption, and the like were not within the cognizance of either Uncle Matthew or Uncle Tom, and certainly not of Aunt Mary, their joint recollections of the flight, if by tacit consent they glossed over the exact nature of their departure from Rózsafa, proved just as enthralling, even for Max, with Aunt Mary likening being strapped into her seat as akin to being restrained in an asylum.

"Are you speaking from personal experience?" Tom asked, wooden faced.

Everyone, including Mary, laughed.

* * *

"Anyway, back to what yous were telling us - about the Old Tower".

Danny nodded. Taking a deep breath, with yet another glance at Uncle Friedrich, Danny now went on with his tale.

"Well, we cleared away some of the loose stones from the doorway, so that we could climb in ..."  
"It was dark inside but we could see daylight at the top," explained Robert.

"Danny said that was where the eagle lived," added Bobby.

"It was easy going up. Well, not that difficult. Except, where the steps were missing," put in Simon.

Robert nodded.

"About halfway up there was a large break in the stairs but we managed to climb over it. Then, coming down, we found we couldn't do what we had done on the way up. So, we had to jump back across the break in the darkness. That's when Danny fell and hit his head".

Tom nodded.

"And I pulled my arm," added Simon.

"So after that, Bobby and I had to help Dan and Si down the stairs. Then, while I stayed with them, Bobby went for help, running back through the woods, all on his own," explained Robert.

Danny winked at his little brother.

"Ya were a real hero, Bobby, just like D'Artagnan in _The Three Musketeers_ ".

Bobby beamed.

"Da ..."

"What?"  
"I thought I saw ..."  
"Saw what, Button?"  
"A wolf," whispered Bobby. "That's why I ran so fast, Da. In case it tried to gobble me up!"

"Are there any wolves here?" Sybil asked.

"Who knows? In the forests, maybe there are". Friedrich smiled. In fact, as he well knew, there were no wolves left in Austria, but to have said so would have served only to diminish Bobby's bravery and his uncle did not want to do that.

"Ya were very brave, Button". Tom hugged Bobby to him. Sitting opposite them, seeing Bobby seated on his Da's knee, Matthew had to smile. There was no denying who his father was; they were as alike as two peas in a pod.

* * *

Matthew and Mary had just ended telling everyone about the dance held at Rózsafa.

"Darling, where were we staying, the time we danced the _Charleston_ in Monte Carlo?"

At the memory this particular recollection evoked, Matthew smiled broadly.

"Cap Martin, back in '26, with the Althorpes. At their villa".

"Yes, of course".

"I seem to recall we put on quite a display on the dance floor, you and I".

"Yes, well, maybe".  
"No _maybe_ about it. We did!"

Mary smiled.

"All the same, I think the least said about that little episode, the better. In any case, it was all the fault of the champagne. That evening, it quite went to my head. By the time we came to leave, I was feeling decidedly squiffy".

"What's _squiffy_?" Danny asked. He had never heard the word before. Nor, had Simon.

"It means, my boy, that your Aunt Mary had a little too much to drink!"

"Matthew!"

"Well, where's the harm in admitting it? We've all done it, at one time or another. And, doubtless, in time, when they're older, they will do too". Seeking confirmation of what he had just said, Matthew looked in turn at each of the other adults here present while Robert and Simon exchanged glances. Today was certainly proving to be full of surprises. Learning that Papa and Mama had made a spectacle of themselves on the dance floor was startling enough but then to find that Mama had been ... squiffy. Well!

Unlike Danny and Simon, Robert knew already what _squiffy_ meant.

* * *

 **Billiards Room, Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, spring 1933.**

"No more than that. I don't want you going all _squiffy_ on me. And not a word to your mother, about having a tot of brandy! She'd be horrified".

" _Squiffy_ , father?" Robert had never heard the word before.

His father smiled.  
"What you feel like ... when you've had a little too much to drink".

"Have you ever been _squiffy,_ father?"  
"Now, that **would** be telling. But, as it happens, yes, and on quite a few occasions. And not only when your Uncle Tom comes to stay! Cheers!"

* * *

 **Terrace, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

"I would **never** have put you down as a flapper, darling".

"No more than I could ever have imagined you learning how to fly an aeroplane!"

"But a flapper!"

"Oh, I was hardly that darling but since Matthew has well and truly let the cat out of the bag, you all now know that I do have my moments!"

Again everyone laughed, giving Simon the nerve to venture a further question.

"Father, what's a "flapper"?" He saw his parents exchange knowing smiles.

"Let's just say it's a young lady who likes dancing".

"Really?"

"Yes".

"And I can vouch for the fact that your mother does indeed like dancing, for sure".  
"She does?" Simon sounded doubtful.

"Yes, really!"  
"And how would you know ..." Mary began, realising too late that she had blundered.

Tom smiled.

"Have ya forgotten the two of us tripping the light fantastic together, down at the _Arizona_?"

" _The Arizona_? What's that?" asked Saiorse.

"A nightclub in Budapest," explained Da, before proceeding to regale the family with the wonders on show at the _Arizona ..._

* * *

"An elephant?" Knowing Tom's propensity to exaggerate, Sybil sounded disbelieving, even if she accepted what Mary had told them about the tame fox.

Tom nodded.

"Really, Da?" Still seated on his father's knee, Bobby's eyes grew very round.

"For sure, Button!"

* * *

And so the sultry afternoon wore away, with the family sitting out on the terrace in the warm sunshine, Wyss and Salvatore still down in the meadow in their shirt sleeves working on the engine of the Junkers. Dr. Berger called to look in on his two patients and while he examined first Danny's head and then Simon's shoulder, Robert and Max took themselves off down to the meadow to see how the repairs were progressing. Before they went, Friedrich impressed on them not to make a nuisance of themselves, and for Max not to take any unnecessary risks.

Not that this prevented Max from asking all sorts of questions nor, during a pause in the repairs, the two boys, helped by Salvatore, climbing up onto one of the wings and then inside the cockpit and the passenger cabin while Wyss carried on with the repairs; at the same time keeping a weather eye out for anyone coming down from the house. So when later Friedrich appeared with several bottles of cold beer, he found Robert and Max sitting cross-legged on the warm grass, watching as Wyss and Salvatore started up the engine to see if the repairs had been effective.

* * *

"Yes, Da, I remember what ya told me in Florence. I do hope so!" Danny sighed wistfully.

Tom and Sybil watched as, with his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his khaki shorts, Danny mooched off across the terrace, down the steps, to go in search of Robert and Max.

"I don't think I've ever come across anyone so intent on being in love as darling Danny".

"Well, he needn't worry. He's a good looking boy. A few years from now, the girls will be all over him, for sure".

* * *

"No, darling, I think that piece goes ... there"  
"Thank you, Mama". Rebecca looked up; smiled at her mother. When, in the past, she had tried to do a jigsaw, it was always under the watchful eyes of Nanny Bridges. But this afternoon, with Papa and Mama having returned from what Mama had said had been a short holiday in some far off place, it was Mama helping her make the pieces fit.

* * *

The sky had darkened ominously and it looked very much as though the storm they had encountered west of the Carpathians had followed them here to Rosenberg. A moment later and the first fat raindrops began spattering the flagstones, prompting an immediate exodus off the terrace and inside.

"The boys ..." began Mary, looking towards the distant meadow, where could be glimpsed Danny, Robert, and Max, along with the two pilots still working on the Junkers. Now rising, and with Simon's assistance, Mary began gathering up the pieces of Rebecca's jigsaw.

"Oh, they'll be all right! The three of them suffered a far worse soaking before you left for Hungary!" laughed Friedrich.

* * *

 **Later that same day.**

There was still no word from Chilston; nor indeed any news of what had become of Tibor or young Micky Waldstein.

* * *

 **Gazebo, Rosenberg.**

The rain had stopped half an hour since.

"Aunt Mary, why are you crying?"

Hearing Max's voice, Mary stiffened; turning, she saw that, quietly and unobtrusively, he had come to stand beside her in the gazebo overlooking the lower garden, whence she herself had come, she thought unobserved, so as to to be alone with her thoughts. Saw too that, now having changed for dinner, Max was dressed as he had been the very first time they had met, in the salle d'attente of the Gare Maritime in Calais the previous summer.

"Darling, I'm not. I had something in my eye. That's all".

Max gave her a thoughtful look.

"That's what Mama says ... when she's been crying ... and doesn't want me to know," he said softly. His candour was unexpected; disarmingly so, for a boy of his age but Edith had said that in some ways Max was old beyond his years.

"And does your Mama often do that?"  
"No, not often. But sometimes she does. Usually when I'm unwell".

"I see".

Max held out his hand.

"Walk with me?"

It was, Mary supposed, part of the continuing strangeness of the day that, without question, she did as Max had asked.

* * *

Their stroll had taken them down through the rain dappled, rose scented English Garden which was Edith's pride and joy, and thence back up to the house.

"And in there?" Mary nodded to a short flight of steps leading up to a pair of double doors.

Max didn't answer her. Instead, he darted forward up the steps, opened one of the doors, standing aside, to let his aunt pass through into the room beyond, before following on behind, throwing wide the shutters of the nearest window, letting daylight flood in, to reveal a veritable jewel.

* * *

 **Ballroom, Rosenberg, summer 1933.**

"So, this is the ballroom?" It was more a statement than a question for with its gilded, white plaster work, painted ceiling, pier glasses, silver candle sconces, polished parquet floor, and the two huge chandeliers which, like all the other furnishings, were swathed in heavy dust sheets, for what other purpose could this magnificent room be used; except for dancing.

Once again, Mary felt Max's hand steal into her own. Glancing down, she saw him nod his head.

"Yes. This is where Mama taught me to dance," he said quietly.

"To dance?" echoed Mary. To her knowledge, dancing had never been Edith's forte but, then again, as she herself had come to learn so very recently in Hungary, each and everyone of them was a mystery, perhaps most of all to themselves.

Max nodded. Found himself thinking back ...

* * *

 **Ballroom, Rosenberg, afternoon, Christmas Day, December 1931.**

Outside, beyond the tall, round headed windows of the ballroom, the snow continued to drift down.

"Please, Mama?"

"Darling, I wouldn't know where to begin".

Max was having none of it. If he wanted something badly enough, then he could be remarkably persistent.

"Yes you do! Please, Mama".

"Very well darling, if it's really what you want".

Max nodded.

* * *

"Well, then. Let's start with the waltz. Now, watch me".

In the fading light of the winter's afternoon, Max stood to one side while his mother drifted slowly round the room, her arms outstretched, holding an imaginary partner.

"One, two, three, one two three. There. Do you see?" she asked drawing level with him.

"Yes, I think so".

Taking his hand, Edith led Max forward into the middle of the room.

"Now, turn and face the windows".

"Why?"

"Because, the gentleman always starts with his back to the middle of the room. Stand straight, shoulders back. Step out to your left and forwards".

"Good boy! Now, turn clockwise ..." Edith nodded to her right "... and sweep your right foot backwards".

Max dutifully followed suit.

"Like this?"

"Well done! Turn your left foot, bring it square, pointing into the middle of the room ... Max, darling, have you done this before?"

"No, never".

"Not even with Fraulein Schmidt?"  
"No, Mama. Why do you ask?"  
"Because you're picking all of it up very quickly indeed".

* * *

 **Ballroom, Rosenberg, summer 1933.**

"Yes, the waltz and the quickstep. This afternoon ..."  
"Yes?"  
"Out on the terrace, you said you and Uncle Matthew once danced the _Charleston_ ".

"I say lots of things ..."  
"But, you do, don't you?"  
"Do what?"  
"Know how to dance the _Charlesto_ n?"  
"Max, darling, that was when your uncle and I were a great deal younger than we are now".

"But you're not old!"

"How very gallant of you to say so, young man. No, at least not yet". Mary laughed.

"Well, then ..."  
"Well, then what?"

"You must remember ..."  
"Max, darling, it was several years ago. That apart, this dress I'm wearing, well it really isn't suitable for ..."

As before, Max was having none of it.

"Please!" At his most winning, he could be very persuasive.

"Oh, very well. But, what about music? We can't dance the _Charleston_ without music". But if Mary had thought to extricate herself from the situation, then she had underestimated Max who was, already, pressing the bell to summon one of the servants who, when he arrived, was asked to fetch both the gramophone and recordings from the Drawing Room.

And while they waited for Hans to return, Mary began to teach Max the _Charleston_.

* * *

"Now, first step forward with your left foot, then tap your right foot forward ..."

"Like this?"  
"Yes. Then step back and tap. So, it's forward and tap, back and tap ..."

"That's it!" laughed Mary. Max grinned. "My, but you're a fast learner".

"That's what Mama said".  
"Did she now?"  
Max nodded.

"So, step back and tap ..."

* * *

The stylus crackled. A moment later and there came the first notes of the tune that a matter of some five years ago had swept across the dance floors of both America and Europe.

* * *

 **Entrance Hall, Rosenberg.**

"So, as I explained to Conrad ... Good God! What on earth ..." began Friedrich now turning as, from somewhere within the house, came the unmistakable sound of the _Charleston_.

* * *

 **Ballroom, Rosenberg.**

"You've got it!" Her cares, at least for the moment forgotten, Mary laughed out loud, quite oblivious to the fact that Max and she had attracted an audience, now standing open-mouthed, in the doorway.

* * *

The music came to an end and Max ran over to change the recording. Catching sight of everyone, he grinned.

A moment later and the new recording began to play.

 _Five foot two, eyes of blue_  
 _But oh, what those five foot could do_  
 _Has anybody seen my girl?_  
 _Turned up nose, turned down hose_  
 _Never had no other beaus_  
 _Has anybody seen my girl?_

It was the tune to which Mary and Tibor had danced in the house on Úri utca in Budapest.

"I don't remember any more," she said; now turned her head away so that neither Max, nor any of the others in the doorway, should see her tears.

 **Author's Note:**

 _Even the tide wouldn't take her out!_ An Irish phrase used to describe an ugly woman; implying that while the tide sweeps most things out to sea, there are somethings it wouldn't take!

Odalisque - a female slave or concubine in a harem, especially one in the seraglio of the Sultan of Turkey.

For Tom avoiding paying for his ticket, see the last chapter of _Home Is Where the Heart Is_.

Alexandru Vaida-Voevod (1872-1950) was a Roumanian politician who supported and promoted the union of Transylvania with the Kingdom of Roumania. He became Prime Minister of Roumania for the third time in 1933.


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty Nine

The Eleven O'Clock Express

 **Ballroom Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

The faint ripple of polite applause, from the adults and children gathered in the doorway of the ballroom, to Mary and Max's impromptu performance of the _Charleston,_ faded away. As it did, Matthew walked across the room to where Mary stood beside one of the windows.

"And, are you?" he asked; the question audible only to her. As for the rest of what he might have said, it went unspoken, Matthew knowing instinctively what Mary must be thinking ... and of whom.

"Not really, no," was her reply to the unspoken question: was she was all right?

"Why am I not surprised?" Matthew paused; he ghosted a smile. "That was quite a display the two of you put on just now," he said, trying to talk of anything that might serve to distract Mary from her disquietude.

She nodded.

"You know very well why. Darling, isn't there anything further that can be done?"

"Not until I hear from Chilston; no. So far, his continuing silence speaks volumes. However, the government in Budapest would be extremely ill advised were it to try and make an example of those caught up in the attempted coup".

"They wouldn't do that surely. Would they?"

Matthew's response was indirect.

"Darling, try not to worry. As it happens, Tibor is far better placed than most to survive all of this".

"How so?"

"Let's just say that while Tom and I were at the embassy in Budapest, mindful of how these things so often turn out, I took the precaution of taking out some insurance".

" **Insurance**?"

"Darling, trust me. Now, now more". Matthew shook his head.

Mary grimaced; knew that trying to exact information from Matthew when he was not prepared to vouchsafe it was akin to extracting blood out of a stone. At times Matthew could be so maddeningly oblique but, knowing what she did now, she supposed this had to do with his activities on behalf of the Foreign Office. Mary wondered if the others here at Rosenberg had guessed the truth of how things stood vis-à-vis his work for the British Secret Service. She thought it unlikely. After all, in this as in so many other things, Matthew had always been the very soul of discretion.

* * *

 **Erdőtelek Estate, southeast Hungary, several hours before.**

Tibor turned; took careful aim with his revolver at the nearest of the closing group of soldiers. Had the grim satisfaction of seeing the man, caught in the shoulder, drop his rifle, and fall to the ground. Back in the '20s, when he was an officer cadet at the renowned Ludovica Military Academy in Budapest, he had a reputation of being a crack shot. Not even in his wildest imaginings had he ever expected to be using his expertise as a marksman on his fellow countrymen.

* * *

 **Ballroom Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

Turning her head, seeing Max regarding her thoughtfully from the middle of the ballroom, just as he had done earlier out in the gazebo, Mary summoned up a weak smile; at the same time being dismissive, even blasé, of Matthew's praise of their dancing.

"Oh, that!"  
"Yes, **that**!"

Sensing that she had been unduly churlish, Mary now contrived a smile for Matthew as well.

"Darling, it's easy enough, especially when you have a good partner; as I do now. Just as I did in Monte Carlo. But, thank you all the same".

Seeing Max still standing where he was, Mary opened her arms. Sensing that everything was not quite as it should be, Max went willingly to her. Let his aunt hold him close; felt her lips brush the top of his head.

* * *

Quite why this haemophiliac boy who, when all was said and done, was Edith's child, meant so much to her, was something Mary had never been able to fathom. Their first meeting, in the _salle d'attente_ of the Gare Maritime in Calais, had hardly been a resounding success. Mary had been wary of Max and he, however much he wanted to become acquainted with his uncles, aunts, and cousins, wary of all of them.

But, especially of her.

Yet, for all there was something, however intangible, which bound them, the one to the other.

* * *

Max caught sight of his mother standing in the open doorway; saw an expression on her face which he had never seen before. Had he known the words he would have said it registered a mixture of resentment tinged with resignation. As Edith had said, in some things, Max was old beyond his years. Nonetheless, he summoned up a smile for his mother; saw Mama nod her head.

* * *

Friedrich came and stood beside them.

"Bravo! Very well done, my boy!" Of course, Friedrich was very well aware that Edith had taught Max both the waltz and the quickstep; how, subsequently, he had put that knowledge to good effect here, in this very room, in front of a large audience in January 1932.

"Thank you, Papa".

"Yes, well done, indeed". Mary ruffled Max's hair.

"Thank you, Aunt Mary!" Max grinned.

"My pleasure. Well, I don't know about you, young man, but all that dancing's given me quite an appetite". It hadn't but Mary made the lie sound convincing enough. So, a few moments later, save for Simon, Bobby, and young Rebecca who, with Nanny Bridges, had already eaten their suppers upstairs in the nursery, the rest of the family, along with Wyss and Salvatore, trooped into the Dining Room.

* * *

 **Erdőtelek Estate, southeast Hungary, several hours before.**

Catching sight of Micky crouching beside the trunk of the acacia tree, Tibor shook his head.

"I thought I told you to go back to the house ..."

Micky, his eyes blinded by tears, could only nod mutely.

"It's me they want," said Tibor calmly, before telling his men to drop their weapons. A moment later, Tibor too threw down his pistol, and raised his hands in the air. Without turning to look at Micky, Tibor spoke crisply and to the point.

"There's something else I want you to do. Promise me now that you **will** do this. My life may well depend on it".

"I promise," sobbed Micky.

* * *

 **Royal Palace, Budapest, Kingdom of Hungary, earlier that same day.**

"... and that being so, Your Serene Highness, His Britannic Majesty's Government would consider any such course most ill advised".

"Is that a warning?" Horthy's eyes glittered.

"No, sir; not at all. Merely respectful counsel, tendered most humbly, by the representative here in Budapest of a friendly foreign power. One that has ever had the interests of the Kingdom of Hungary at heart".

"Indeed? A country that supported that damnable treaty? Very gratifying". Horthy had the satisfaction of seeing Chilston blanch. "Be that as it may, there remains, as yet, no word as to the precise fate of the Granthams, Branson úr or ... Captain Csáky".

"And when there is, may I ask Your Serene Highness, what then?"  
" **Then** , Chilston vikomtja, you have my assurance that I shall reflect most carefully on all that you have just told me. Now ..."

Behind the large desk, resplendent in his full dress uniform, Admiral Horthy rose to his feet, signalling that the audience with the British ambassador was at an end.

* * *

 **Dining Room, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, later that same evening.**

Dinner, served here in the splendour of Rosenberg's blue panelled Dining Room, hung with sombre portraits in gilt frames of past members of the Schönborn family, proved to be a convivial, happy meal. However, before it began, to toast the safe return here of Matthew, Mary, and Tom, Friedrich had asked Kleist to go down to the cellar and fetch up a couple of bottles of the _Dom Pérignon '29_ , and to serve everyone, including the youngsters here present with a glass. At that, Kleist had raised a discrete eyebrow. It was his considered opinion that this was a waste of fine champagne. In his view, children should be seen and not heard: preferably both. Certainly not indulged. But then who was he to gainsay the master's wishes?

* * *

The four children had never tasted bubbly before but, as Matthew said to Mary, where was the harm in it? Where indeed? But maybe, just maybe, it was that single glass of bubbly which led to some high jinks at the dining table.

For, despite the imposing surroundings, once they were all seated, Danny and Robert began flicking a barrage of bread pellets at Saiorse from the other side of the table and in the process threatening the survival of bone china and lead crystal, each piece of which embellished with the Schönborn arms, in the case of the latter delicately etched on glass.

The first of the bread pellets began its trajectory during the soup course, landing a moment or two later next to Saiorse's napkin ring. The second followed almost immediately, tracing much the same path, before arriving on Saiorse's side of the table. There it ricocheted off her side plate, onto the floor, to be devoured by Fritz who, unseen, had nosed his way into the room in search of Max. The third came within a whisker of Saiorse's right ear, while the fourth passed by on the other side of her head, to land somewhere on the parquet floor where, once again, it was gobbled up by Fritz. Glancing across the table, Saiorse saw Danny and Robert looking as though butter wouldn't melt in their mouths, gazing intently up at the ceiling where something, invisible to everyone else, appeared to have attracted their undivided attention.

A moment later a solitary bread pellet landed with a _plop_ in the middle of Danny's soup.

Who on earth ...

Looking up, Danny saw Da who, over the last few years, at the annual House v Village Cricket Match at Downton, had gained a well deserved reputation for being a fearsome bowler, gazing at him from across the table; whereupon his father raised an admonitory forefinger.

"Stop it, you two!" he said softly.

"Stop what?" Sybil asked.

Seeing Danny and Rob pleading silently for nothing further to be said, Tom grinned; shook his head.

"Nothing; no matter".

After which, Saiorse was safe from any further attack.

* * *

As mistress of Rosenberg, Edith had approved the menu for the week ahead several days earlier, but felt something special prepared should be prepared to mark the safe return of Matthew, Mary, and Tom. With this in mind, she had gone post haste down to the kitchen to ask Frau Eder if she would be prepared to change the menu for tonight's dinner. Frau Eder had a very soft spot for the mistress, even more so for Master Max, and given how complimentary Herr Branson had been about her desserts, agreed. Indeed, rose magnificently to the challenge, ransacking her capacious storerooms in order to produce a truly memorable meal. There appeared on the dining table for the first course _Speckknödelsuppe_ \- a clear broth soup served with dumplings, followed by _Zwiebelrostbraten mit Braterdäpfeln und Gurkerlsenf_ which Edith explained was a local beef delicacy served with roasted onions, gherkins mustard and potatoes. For dessert, Frau Eder truly excelled herself, creating a delicious _Topfenstrudel_ which, said Tom, even surpassed the cook's excellent _Tiramisu_.

* * *

 **Drawing Room, Rosenberg, a short while later.**

After dinner, coffee was served to the adults in the Drawing Room where both Mary and Max received yet further accolades for their impromptu rendition of the _Charleston;_ Tom suggesting that, undoubtedly, a career on the stage beckoned for the both of them while Danny, Rob, and Saiorse all said they hadn't realised just how talented their cousin Max was; he blushing red with the praise being heaped upon him. Of all the other children, only young Bobby had shown any real aptitude for learning how to dance. At home Bobby was known for his ability to perform an Irish jig. This was something which had only come to light comparatively recently, during a jaunt the Bransons had taken the previous autumn, the five of them crammed into the family motor, heading south from Blackrock, out into the Dublin Mountains.

* * *

 **Kitchen, Idrone Terrace, Blackrock, County Dublin, Ireland, October 1932.**

Although it was autumn, the leaves of the trees fast turning to russet and gold, it seemed that the first week of October had borrowed days from September; for, here in County Dublin, the weather was glorious and with no sign of it coming to an end Sybil had proposed that on the morrow, a Saturday, the family take a trip from Blackrock out into the countryside. With this in mind, Tom suggested the Dublin Mountains, with the Great Sugar Loaf - something of a local landmark in neighbouring County Wicklow - as their destination, and that they should take a picnic along with them too.

The following morning, after breakfast, Sybil and Bobby set about preparing a hamper. There was cheese, pickles, eggs, and bread aplenty to be had in the larder, and an apple tart too, along with several bottles of of ginger beer, although Tom said he would have much preferred something stronger. For their part, Danny and Saiorse were duly dispatched down to the local butcher's to buy a large raised pork pie. Mouth watering or not, the food was a far cry from the elaborate fare which would have been offered to house guests attending the game shoots which, during Sybil's childhood would, at this time of the year, have been well underway on the Downton Abbey estate.

* * *

A short while later, well satisfied with the resplendent sheen on the paintwork of the Austin, Tom wandered into the kitchen from the workshop at the bottom of the garden, where he saw that preparations for the picnic were now well underway with a plate piled high with cheese sandwiches on the kitchen table and Sybil slicing up a second loaf. Seated on the table beside his mother, looking up and seeing his father, young Bobby grinned.

"Da! I'm helping Ma make sandwiches!" announced the little boy proudly, laboriously buttering yet another thickly cut slice of bread.

"Are ya, Button?"

Bobby nodded.

"For sure, Da!"

"And?" Sybil asked, catching sight of the smile creasing Tom's face.

"Well, I've heard of door steps ..." He gestured towards the tottering pile of thickly cut sandwiches which were threatening to fall off the plate. "The workmen rebuilding O'Connell Street could have made use of them, for sure!"

Sybil glowered. Said in a honeyed tone:

"Tom, darling, it may have escaped your attention, but this bread knife is very sharp".

* * *

 **Kilmacanogue, County Wicklow, Ireland, October 1932.**

Not far from the Great Sugar Loaf itself, outside the aptly named Sugar Loaf Hotel Inn in Kilmacanogue, saying that the engine of the Austin was making a noise it shouldn't, promising Sybil that they wouldn't be left stranded, Tom brought the motor to a gentle stand. After he and Danny had climbed out, lifted up the bonnet, and put their heads together beneath it to try and find what the problem was, having clambered out of the motor, Sybil, Saiorse, and Bobby left "the boys" to it, and strolled over to where, outside the front door of the hotel a group of men were making music.

Along with Saiorse, Sybil, she with Bobby seated on her knees, sat down on a low wall, to listen to a succession of lively tunes being played on a variety of instruments: a concertina, a flute, a couple of fiddles, and a bodhrán, a frame drum played with a tipper, a double-ended knuckle bone. Some of the tunes, even if Sybil didn't know their names, she thought she recognised. There was one she felt sure had been played at the _ceilidh_ which had followed her and Tom's wedding in Clontarf in June 1919. Then the door of the hotel opened and a young woman came out carrying a crowded tray of drinks for the musicians. At the same time, attracted by the sound of the music, a gaggle of young men and girls from the village, drifted in their ones and twos, over to the area in front of the grey stone building, and a couple of the men began an impromptu series of lively jigs.

The music was infectious and soon Sybil and the two children were clapping along in time. Then, quite unexpectedly, Bobby slipped off his mother's knees, stood up, and, entirely unselfconsciously, started copying the two men. Like his Austrian cousin, Bobby was an apt pupil and, in no time at all, he was jigging along with the best of them.

Catching sight of Bobby performing his solo routine, one of the men called out, and beckoned him over. Without so much as a backward glance to his family, Sybil and Saiorse now having been joined by Tom and Danny, Bobby ran across to where the two men were putting on a spirited performance to the _Jig of Slurs_. Sybil had brought along her Box Brownie, the same camera she had with her when the family, Tom, Danny, Saiorse, and herself - Bobby had not yet been born - had travelled down to the far southwest of Ireland to the Beara Peninsula in July 1924. Now on this bright October morning, outside the Sugar Loaf Hotel in Kilmacanogue, Sybil took several photographs of Bobby's spirited performance.

* * *

"He be a natural, missus!" laughed one of the men who, with the jig now at an end, had walked with Bobby over to where his family were still seated on the wall.

"Really?" Sybil laughed.

"Here, lad, ya'll be needin' it, for sure!" The young man held out a glass, brimful with lemonade.

"What do you say, Bobby?"

"Thank you, sir!"

As had been the case when he had performed his jig, just as unselfconsciously Bobby held out his hand in a perfect imitation of the gesture he had seen his father make many times before. Whether it was this, natural as it was, or having been addressed as "sir", the young man seemed entirely flummoxed before grasping Bobby's outstretched hand, and giving it the most perfunctory of shakes. Then he stepped back; looked first at Bobby, and then at Sybil.

While Bobby was far too young to understand, Sybil had seen that look before. Although Ireland had gained her independence from Britain in 1922, the settlement was far from perfect and there were many in the Free State who considered the Anglo-Irish Treaty to be a betrayal of those who had fought, and in many cases died, for the cause of an independent Ireland. This being so, in parts of the country, an English accent was as a red rag to a bull.

"Ya not be from round here?"

"No, Dublin".

"Dublin? Is that a fact, now? But I be right in t'inkin' missus ... that ya be from England?"

Sybil nodded.

"Yes, I am; but my husband here, hails from Clontarf".

This revelation served to defuse what might otherwise have proved a difficult situation for it turned out that the young man had a cousin in service in Clontarf.

Then, Tom having said that the Austin was now in perfect working order, once everyone was back in the motor, the Bransons set off for the Great Sugar Loaf and their delayed picnic lunch. Having done justice to Sybil's cold collation, early in the afternoon, the family took a leisurely stroll up to the summit, there to take in glorious views of the countryside of County Wicklow before wending their downwards and thence homeward in the Austin to Blackrock, passing the scene of Bobby's earlier triumph outside the Sugar Loaf Hotel in Kilmacanogue.

* * *

 **Idrone Terrace, Blackrock, County Dublin, later that same day.**

Quite where Bobby's affinity with dancing came from, neither Tom nor Sybil could say but, later, when they were back in Blackrock, and the children upstairs in bed, Tom said he thought it might hark back to the dim and distant past, to when, or so the story ran in the Branson family, one of Tom's forbears had married a gypsy girl called Maria.

Sybil was incredulous.

"A gypsy girl?"

"For sure!"

"It's just as well Papa never knew that; you, not only a chauffeur, but also a gypsy! For God's sake, don't tell Mary!" laughed Sybil.

Tom grinned.

" **Part** gypsy if you please! And I didn't say a **direct** forbear. Apparently, the girl came from Bohemia or some such place. At least so I heard tell. I always thought it was just a story ..."

"Made up?"  
"Yes, but now ... what with Bobby's performance today ... I find myself wondering if there wasn't some truth in it".

* * *

 **Erdőtelek Estate, southeast Hungary, summer 1933.**

"And now you, must come with us".

The oddest part of it all, thought Tibor, was that the Regent's soldiers seemed almost apologetic.

* * *

 **Drawing Room, Rosenberg, Lower Austria, much later that same day.**

"So, then," said Friedrich briskly but a moment or two after the four children, having changed into their nightclothes and come down to say goodnight, had been shepherded out of the Drawing Room and back upstairs by the redoubtable Nanny Bridges, "what happened down there at Rózsafa and what's become of Manfred and Eva?" He saw Matthew, Mary, and Tom exchange nervous glances. "Ah, as bad as that? I feared as much".

"Was it ... so very ... awful?" Edith asked falteringly; saw again the same exchange of apprehensive glances.

"Worse than you can possibly imagine," said Mary softly.

Tom nodded.

"For sure".

"How could Manfred and Eva have been so foolish to become mixed up in such a madcap scheme?" Friedrich sighed.

"Where to begin, that's the question," observed Matthew. "I warn you now, it's a long story, and some of it not very pleasant".

"Well, I for one am a good listener. As for the rest ..." Friedrich shrugged, settled himself back against the sofa; Edith and Sybil did likewise.

"I suppose all of this began shortly after the Great War, when I was asked ..."

* * *

Matthew began by explaining how he had been recruited into the ranks of the British Secret Service - saw Friedrich and Edith exchange knowing glances - of how the Foreign Office had asked that, given the volatility of the political situation both here and in Germany, that while they were in Austria, Matthew should keep his ear to the ground. That if the chance presented itself to ascertain how things stood in the neighbouring Kingdom of Hungary that would be of inestimable benefit, given the rumours that were rife, of a coup to topple the Horthy regime and install Crown Prince Otto on the empty throne.

Then, with many interjections, from Mary and from Tom, Matthew told of Tibor Csáky, how, with his military and social connections, he had been recruited to replace the British agent killed when the Orient Express had plunged off the Biatorbágy Bridge in the autumn of 1931. Told too of how the coup was doomed to fail; that the post war settlement in the Balkans, however unfair the Trianon Treaty had been to Hungary, had to be maintained, at least for the present. Matthew and Tom spoke of those members of the Hungarian aristocracy whom they had met; of their way of life, and of their political views. Of how attempts had been made to enlist both Matthew, a peer of the realm and a highly respected member of the British Establishment, and Tom, the Deputy Editor of a well known Irish newspaper, to the rebels' cause. That although they themselves could not see it, the Hungarian aristocracy was living on borrowed time; a relic of a world that had all but vanished with the collapse of the Austro-Hungarian Empire at the end of the Great War.

Of the covert attempt which had been made to ruin Matthew's reputation and discredit his work for the League of Nations, of the story that he was having a relationship with the comtesse de Roquebrune. Of the attempt made by Unity Mitford to seduce Tom, which Sybil, knowing him as she did, found too funny for words. Of the part suspected to have been played in all of this by Tom's cousin, Fergal, who, as Friedrich had told Edith and Sybil already, was very much alive, and working for the German Foreign Ministry on the Wilhelmstrasse in Berlin. It fell to Mary to tell of what had befallen her out at the old brickworks, with Matthew taking up the tale again when it came to describing the attack on Rózsafa, and their flight from the house. That no-one knew what had become of Manfred and Eva, but that it seemed unlikely anyone left in the kastély could have survived. Matthew spoke modestly of the part he had played in the spirited defence of the bridge, and then of their eventual reunion out at the airstrip, with Wyss and Salvatore explaining how it had been touch and go as to whether they would reach Rózsafa in time and even if they did so, whether they would be able to land. By tacit consent Mary and Tom said little of what had befallen them at the hands of Fergal and his men; there were some things best left unsaid. And finally, Matthew spoke of the sad farewells made to Tibor and young Micky Waldstein.

* * *

"Well," said Friedrich, when the others at last fell silent, "if I may say so, that was quite a tale, one of courage and resourcefulness, told with flair and self deprecating modesty". A ringing endorsement with which everyone else present agreed wholeheartedly. Then, from the hall, there came the sound of the telephone. A few moments later, Kleist entered the room to announce that the call was for Friedrich.

* * *

When Friedrich came back, everyone looked up expectantly; watched in silence as he resumed his seat next to Edith where he sat gazing down at the floor. This did not bode well; nor the fact that the ensuing silence only lengthened.

"Is there any news?" Edith asked at last.

Friedrich nodded.

"That was Moruzov on the telephone".  
"Moruzov?" Matthew had heard the name before but for the life of him, couldn't quite place where.

"Yes. The head of the Roumanian Secret Service. It would seem that you two are in the clear, at least as far as the authorities in Bucharest are concerned". Friedrich nodded at Wyss and Salvatore. "I've been informed that Junkers was on a training flight, which then experienced engine problems, and was forced to make an emergency landing across the border in Hungary. The Roumanian government gives no credence to the story that the Junkers landed on Hungarian soil in order to pick up three individuals presently being sought by the authorities in Budapest. At least that's the official version".

Wyss and Salvatore exchanged glances.

" _Official version_? What about the damage to the aeroplane?" asked Matthew. "As I said before, it looks like a bloody colander! While Wyss and his chum here may have fixed the problem with the engine, bullet holes don't simply disappear. Indeed, they're only too suggestive of what actually happened".

Friedrich shook his head.

"Let me be plain. Nothing happened but, hypothetically, even if something had, insofar as _it_ , whatever _it_ was, _it_ neither affected nor threatened the integrity of the Kingdom of Roumania. Therefore the government in Bucharest does not propose commenting on ..." Friedrich paused. "What were Moruzov's exact words? In fact, those of the Prime Minister, Vaida-Voievod. _A minor, internal matter arising within the Kingdom of Hungary_ ".

" ** _A minor, internal matter_**?" Tom quirked an eyebrow. "Jaysus! It was a feckin' coup!"

Again Friedrich shook his head.

"Reports of an **attempted** coup against the regime of Admiral Horthy, with the apparent aim of placing Crown Prince Otto on the vacant throne, are merely that: reports. Since the **alleged** coup failed, they are entirely without foundation. Indeed, who is to say that a coup ever took place? That is the view of the British government and that is what Viscount Chilston told the Regent of the Kingdom of Hungary earlier today in his audience with Admiral Horthy at the Royal Palace on the Var".

"How the devil do you know that?" asked Matthew, clearly impressed with Friedrich's unexpected store of knowledge.

Friedrich tapped the side of his nose.

"I too have my diplomatic secrets. Do you really believe that the British have a monopoly on intelligence? That they are the only foreign power to have secret agents with their ears to the ground in Budapest?"

Matthew shook his head.

"No, of course not".

Friedrich nodded.

"Well then, to put matters plainly. To admit the existence of a coup, even one that failed, would risk destabilising the fragile post war settlement down there in the Balkans. One which you yourself have said must be maintained. As for the damage to the 'plane which, in the circumstances, is a trivial matter, I am informed it was caused by an ill disciplined, trigger happy rabble of Hungarian militia. Nonetheless, a regrettable occurrence, one for which compensation will be sought by Roumania. The government in Bucharest does not take kindly to having one of its aircraft peppered with holes. That said, in due course, the claim for compensation will, naturally, be quietly dropped. A matter of diplomatic niceties and so forth".

"Naturally". Matthew was only too well aware how diplomacy worked.

"What if my own paper in Dublin was to report that there had been an attempted coup in Hungary?"

It was Friedrich's turn to ghost a smile.

"Forgive me for saying so, Tom, a newspaper which is published in a country situated on the fringes of the Western world and, however much you would wish it otherwise, the Irish Free State possessing neither importance nor international standing. From what I have heard, to attempt to publish such an article would be most ... unfortunate. Indeed, I doubt very much that it would ever find its way into print".

"You're suggesting that I lie?"

"No. Merely that you refrain ... from reporting unnecessary information".

* * *

 **The Lake, Rosenberg, early the following morning.**

On the morrow, excited by the prospect of their trip into Vienna to ride on the Riesenrad, having woken early, before anyone else in the family was up, and well before breakfast, Danny, Rob, and Max stole quietly out of the house and made their way down to the small lake in the lower garden for an early morning swim. Unlike the more distant pond, where the three boys had received their soaking and Max had cut his knee, the crystal clear waters of the small lake being deeper, without encircling reeds, and with no hidden pike lurking in their depths, were a far more suitable a place in which to take a dip.

It was something they had done several times already and in which, the boys were invariably, as was the case today, accompanied by Fritz. Not that the irascible little dachshund was especially enamoured of the journey - for him a long one - down those blasted stone steps and thence across a seemingly never-ending stretch of grass which, at this time of the morning, was invariably damp, if not wet, with dew. Chuntering to himself about what he saw as the unfairness of canine life, Fritz scampered after the three boys just as fast as his short legs would permit.

* * *

While in the course of their stay at Rosenberg, Danny and Rob had taken to diving off the ornate wooden bridge which led over to the summerhouse on the islet, much to his chagrin, Max was forbidden from doing so, in case he hit his head. This was one stricture placed upon him which he followed to the letter, having to be content with slipping gently into the lake from off the grassy bank. However, being a good swimmer, once in the water, Max saw to it that he had just as much fun as his cousins.

* * *

Beside the lake, the three boys changed into their swimming costumes.

Without any sense of embarrassment, Rob and Max stripped stark naked before pulling on their trunks. Danny, too, stripped naked but, acutely aware of the physical changes beginning to manifest themselves on his body, turned away so that his back was to his cousins as he slipped off his undershorts and then quickly put on his tank top bathing suit. Not that either Rob or Max seemed to have noticed him do so; Rob, as soon as he had changed, running swiftly up onto the bridge before diving head first into the sparkling, still waters, while Max swam out across the surface of the lake to meet him.

Given the fact that within the Branson family neither Tom nor Sybil had ever been embarrassed by nakedness, had brought their children up to be of the same disposition, Danny's present shyness was somewhat surprising. As his father said there was a time and a place for everything and being naked was a perfectly normal state, both for men and women, as well as for boys and girls; could not understand why it was that most people were ashamed to be seen so. Added to which, Tom and Sybil had seen to it that Danny and Saiorse had been told the facts of life at a very early age and intended doing the same with young Bobby when he was a little older. While Tom had proved singularly useless in this, Sybil, being a nurse, had approached the whole business, as she always did where matters medical were concerned, in her usual brisk, forthright, no-nonsense fashion. So, by the time Danny and Saiorse were six years old they knew a great deal more than did their peers about what Sybil thought to be the ridiculously named "birds and the bees".

* * *

For his part, claws clicking, inquisitive as ever, Fritz pottered up onto the bridge; poked his snout through the wooden railings and looked down disdainfully at his young master and another of the same species splashing about, and, in Fritz's view, making a very great deal of unnecessary noise. Now recalled to mind the time when his young master had introduced him to the nasty wet stuff, lifting and lowering his paws into it, in a vain attempt to teach Fritz how to swim at the remembrance of which the little dog shook his head in disbelief. If, his young master had had one ounce of common sense then he would have realised that, as a dachshund, Fritz was not made for swimming; his legs were far too short to be effective as paddles and what was worse if he stopped paddling, his legs, being the length they were, meant he could not reach the bottom, so he ran the very real risk of ... sinking. The little dachshund shuddered; the experiment at learning how to swim - not that he had had any choice in the matter - was not something he wished either to remember or repeat. So, in an attempt to erase a thoroughly unpleasant memory from his mind, Fritz trotted back along the bridge, to go in search of the nearest rabbit hole.

* * *

An hour or so later, after swimming gently around in the lake, along with an equal amount of splashing and gentle horseplay, the three boys clambered out of the water; stretched out on the grass in the warm morning sunshine. While Rob sprawled on his tummy and Danny sat with his arms clasped around his legs, Max lay on his back, gazing up at the sky watching fluffy white clouds chasing each other across the blue of the firmament. He felt that the day could not have begun more perfectly. With Uncle Matthew, Aunt Mary, and Uncle Tom now safely back from Hungary, here he was spending time with the two cousins whom he loved as if they were his own brothers.

* * *

Hearing a shout from the terrace, turning their heads, the boys caught sight of Danny's father signalling to them that they should hurry back up to the house for breakfast.

"Well, I suppose we'd better be getting dressed," said Rob.

"For sure," Danny said. He stood up.

* * *

"Danny?"

Unthinking, stark naked, Danny turned to face Rob and Max, neither of whom could help but notice the thick bush of dark hair that now surrounded Danny's willy; the patches of dark hair under his arms.

"Dan, what's happened to your ...?" Danny looked down at himself. He blushed. Looked up.

"What I told yous last year, when you start growing up? Remember?"

Two pairs of eyes metaphorically travelled southwards.

"Well, mine doesn't look like that," said Rob.

"Nor mine," said Max.

"Well, they will do one day!"

All the same, notwithstanding what Danny had told the two of them the previous summer when they were in Florence, about the mysterious business of growing up, despite what they had just seen, now looking once again at themselves before they dressed, Rob and Max remained disbelieving.

* * *

"Do you ..." Robert paused in buttoning up his shirt.

"Do I what?" replied Danny, his voice muffled by the towel as he dried his hair.

"Do you feel ... Well you know ..."  
"No, I don't know. Do I feel what?" Danny asked, slightly exasperated, pulling on his underpants. Slipping the towel around his neck, he stood up; looked directly at both Rob and Max.

"Well, different?" Max asked, buckling the belt of his shorts, before kneeling down and putting on his plimsolls.

"No, for sure, Max. Not different. I'm still **me**. But all the same, I ..."

However, before Danny could say anything more, Da hailed them again from the terrace, thus precluding, at least for the time being, any further discussion on the vexed, perplexing subject of _growing up_.

* * *

Beside the three boys Fritz sighed. By this time his own breakfast would be awaiting him, in his bowl, down in the kitchen. However, there still remained the business of negotiating all that blasted grass and then there were those damned steps as well. Unless ...

"I think I'd better carry Frittie," Max said, promptly scooping the little dog up into his arms.

Had he been able to smile, Fritz would have done so. Instead, he gave a contented yap and made himself comfortable. On the whole, life wasn't so bad.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, a couple of hours later.**

Save for the infants in the care of Nanny Bridges, everyone else in the family had gathered on the gravel at the front of the house to watch Friedrich and the three boys leave in the motor for the station at St. Johann down in the valley. They were expected home later that same day, on the six o'clock train from Vienna.

"Now, son, mind ya behave, for sure," said Tom.

"Yes, Da!"

"And no wandering off," admonished Sybil who, given what had happened in Florence the previous summer, was naturally anxious about Danny, even with Rob and Max in tow, being let loose in a city the size of Vienna, where he didn't speak a word of the language.

"Yes, Ma!"

"Don't worry," said Friedrich. "I'll see all of them come to no harm".

"Robert, darling, please do as Uncle Friedrich tells you," said his mother.

"Yes, Mama".

"And here's some pocket money, for the three of you, for the rides". Matthew stuffed several bank notes into Robert's hand.

"Thank you, father!" Robert grinned; pushed the proffered notes deep inside one of the pockets of his shorts.

"Thanks, Uncle Matthew!" chorused Danny and Max.

"My pleasure. Now, off you go and enjoy yourselves".

"We will. Thanks again, Uncle Matthew".

Catching sight of Friedrich, Matthew smiled.

"Yes, mea culpa. Look, Friedrich, I know what you said earlier, but all the same ..." His brother-in-law nodded. When, after breakfast, Matthew had said he intended giving the boys some spending money for the rides in the Prater, Friedrich had said it wasn't necessary; that this was his treat which in some small measure was also to repay Danny and Rob for being such good friends to Max.

* * *

With the boys chattering like magpies about what they were going to do and see in Vienna, if they were to catch the express, the time had now come to leave for the station at St. Johann.

Embraces, handshakes, and kisses between parents and children now followed, with Sybil hugging Danny tightly, Mary openly kissing Robert on the cheek, while Friedrich promised Edith that he would take special care to see that Max came to no harm. For, despite the fact that they had both agreed long since that, as Max grew older, he should not be wrapped in cotton wool, when he was out of her sight, Edith was prone to all sorts of wild imaginings; none of them pleasant.

A moment later and Friedrich and the boys climbed inside and settled themselves down the motor. Then, with Weisman behind the wheel, they were off, the other children running along side the Mercedes as it gathered speed down the drive.

* * *

As the motor vanished out of sight, Saiorse turned to her father.

"Why couldn't I go, Da?"  
"Because Uncle Friedrich promised to take just Danny, Rob, and Max".

"It's not fair, Da!"

"Darlin', sometimes life isn't, for sure," he said softly.

"Danny's with **him** all the time".

"With whom?"  
"With Robert. I never get the chance to be alone with ..." Realising she had said too much, Saiorse broke off what she was saying; blushed red.

So that was how things stood! Tom sighed. Not only Danny but Saiorse too was growing up. He pulled his daughter to him, held her close, kissed the top of her head; smelt the scent of new mown grass in her hair. Like as not, the next few years would prove ... difficult.

* * *

The telephone call, to a shabby flat overlooking the two Baroque palaces of the Belvedere in the Landstraße, the Third District of Vienna, came through but a short while after Friedrich and the boys had left for the capital.

" _Westbahnhof: eleven o'clock_ ".

* * *

 **Westbahnhof, Vienna.**

Here beneath the broad roof of the Westbahnhof, with the powerful Class 113 locomotive now at a stand, blowing off steam, and drawing admiring glances from the three boys, when Friedrich, Danny, Rob, and Max had climbed down from the carriages of the mid morning express, almost immediately, they found themselves immersed in the hustle and bustle of one of the great capital cities of the world.

While the centuries old, sprawling Austro-Hungarian Empire had, _de facto,_ ceased to exist some fifteen years earlier, its last emperor exiled, eventually, to the distant island of Madeira in 1921 where he had died in 1922, despite that Austria was now a republic, everywhere in Vienna there were yet reminders of the city's long imperial past. For, as Friedrich explained to the three boys, as they walked out of the station, it would take more than a mere fifteen years of republican government to erase the centuries of imperial grandeur in the form of palaces, parks, statues, and monuments, let alone the names of many of the streets and squares, which still graced the city.

As if to reinforce what he had just said, Friedrich pointed up at the façade of the station building, to the statue of the Empress Elisabeth, after whom the railway line they had just used was named. Not that any of this meant anything to Max, let alone to Danny or to Rob. Fully aware that he had brought the boys to Vienna to ride on the Riesenrad and take in the attractions of the Prater rather than receive a lesson in Austrian history, Friedrich changed tack.

"Now, you three, what about something to eat and drink?"

Max grinned.

"At the Central Café? May we, Papa, please?"  
"Very well then, yes".

* * *

With Friedrich having hailed a taxi, a few moments later both he and the boys were soon on their way into the very heart of the city. In all the excitement, none paid any heed to the cab following close behind their own. After all, why should they? For, as in any city, cabs were two a penny; a common enough sight. But what was different was the fact that the cab behind, kept pace with their own. And when the taxi carrying Friedrich and the boys stopped on the Herrengasse, the taxi that had been following did the same, coming to a stand some distance away down the same street.

* * *

 **Central Café, Herrengasse, Vienna.**

On the bustling thoroughfare of the Herrengasse, not far from the enormous complex of the Hofburg palace, on the ground floor of the Central Café, presided over by full length portraits of the late Emperor and Empress, Franz Joseph and his wife Elisabeth, beneath a soaring, vaulted ceiling, and among marble columns, those patronising the café might well have imagined that they were seated in a chapel, a church, or even perhaps a cathedral. And, for Danny and Rob, it was all a very far cry from either Bewleys on Grafton Street in Dublin or the Cathedral Tea Rooms in Ripon.

"Does that taste good?" Friedrich asked.

Rob, his mouth full of ice cream - his second - could only smile and nod his assent.

"What about you, Danny?"

"Grand, for sure, Uncle Friedrich," replied his Irish nephew who was eyeing again the mouth watering display of cakes - pastries - of which he had never seen the like. Danny now set down his hot chocolate on the marble top of the table. Saw Max grinning at him. "What?" he asked.

"You've got chocolate all round your mouth! You look just like a golliwog!" laughed Max.

"Have I?" Danny swabbed hard at his mouth with his linen napkin. "So do ya!"  
" **Me**?" Max sounded disbelieving. Seated beside him, Friedrich nodded his head.

"Danny's right". Max turned to look at his father. "In your case, my lad, cream from your apfelstrudel. Here, let me". Friedrich dabbed at his son's mouth with his own napkin. "There, that's much better. What on earth would Mama say?"

Max grinned. Seeing Danny looking longingly again at the pastries, Friedrich smiled.

"Danny, do you want another?"

"Well, I ..."  
His uncle signalled to one of the waiters who appeared promptly at the table; whereupon Friedrich spoke to him in German.

"Now, go with the waiter here ... and choose whichever pastry you like. He will then bring it to the table".

"Well, if you're really sure, Uncle Friedrich ..." Danny sounded rather doubtful.  
"Perfectly. While I may not be as a rich as Croesus - an ancient king from Asia Minor renowned for his wealth - I think I can afford to treat my nephew to another pastry! Now, off you go and choose one".

"Thanks, Uncle Friedrich! But please ..."  
"Please, what?"  
"Please don't tell Ma!"

Friedrich laughed.

"My dear boy, my lips are sealed!"

For his part, Rob was wondering just what his parents would say, were they ever to find out he had enjoyed not one but two ice creams; neither of which resembled remotely the simple cones and single scoops that Simon and he had eaten while walking along the sea front in Scarborough the previous year when the family had been staying at the Grand Hotel. At the time Mama had been thoroughly disapproving; saying that eating in the street was so very middle class. Not that Papa had taken the slightest notice; promptly purchasing a cone for himself. Mama had been horrified, walking briskly on ahead, leaving Papa, Simon and himself to enjoy their ice creams on their own. However, compared to the magnificent creations being served here in the Central Café in Vienna, the ice creams on sale in distant Scarborough paled into insignificance.

* * *

Some time later, with the café now very busy, unobserved, the two occupants of the taxi which had followed Friedrich and the boys all the way from the Westbahnhof down into the city, came in. Having ordered coffee, the men sat reading the newspapers until they saw Friedrich and the boys leave. Moments later, discarding the café's papers, both were on their feet and out of the door. So, when the waiter returned with their bill, it was to find the table empty. The young man - the very same waiter who had served Friedrich and the boys - mouthed an expletive. The _patron_ would not be pleased; expected his staff to keep a watchful eye to see that such things did not happen. But, from time to time, they did. All the waiter could hope was that he would not have the price of the two coffees deducted from his already meagre wages.

* * *

 **South Tower, Stephansdom, Vienna, a short while later.**

After they left the Central Café, and before they caught the tram out to the Prater and the Riesenrad, Friederich suggested that the boys might like to climb the 650 feet high South Tower of the Stephansdom, Vienna's magnificent Gothic cathedral, for unrivalled views, in all directions, out over the city. Access to the tower was made by means of a narrow, winding, spiral staircase.

"... very like the one out at the Old Tower, but made of stone and in far better condition, so you two should have no difficulty whatsoever in climbing it," laughed Friedrich looking pointedly at both Danny and Robert. This was something Max himself had never done either but said his father if he promised to take the several hundred steps slowly, both up and down, and didn't strain himself, then all should be well.

A short walk through a maze of crowded streets brought Friedrich and the boys to the Stephansdom with its magnificent carved façades, two towers, and soaring spire. Friedrich pointed up at the roof made of brightly coloured tiles and which bore the arms of the Habsburgs. Then, with Max's father having paid the modest entrance fee, they began the long climb up the steps. Not long after they did so, anyone else arriving at the door by which they had entered would have found it shut fast; would doubtless have assumed that for some reason the custodian had not turned up or, perhaps, had taken himself off for an early lunch.

In fact neither explanation was correct.

 **Author's Note:**

Tom's comment about Sybil's thickly cut sandwiches being used by the builders on O'Connell Street refers to the reconstruction of the commercial centre of Dublin which had been destroyed in the Easter Rising in 1916, the rebuilding of which had only been completed in 1927.

While renamed, with its exterior remarkably unchanged, the Sugar Loaf Hotel still stands in Kilmacanogue.

For the Bransons' trip to the Beara Peninsula, see my story "Reunion".

 _in service_ i.e. being a servant in a household.

Tank top bathing suit - so called from the fact that during the 1920s swimming pools were known as swimming tanks.

Golliwog: these days considered to be an offensive word. However, at the time of the story it was not thought so, referring to a black rag doll which, up to and beyond WWII was, along with a teddy bear, seen as entirely suitable for a young boy.


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty

Rendezvous At The Riesenrad

 **On board the Budapest Express, Kingdom of Hungary, summer, 1933.**

Following his surrender to the forces of the Regent at Erdőtelek, Tibor's first concern had been, quite naturally, in equal measure, both for his men and for his distant kinsfolk, the Waldsteins. Assured of the fact that none of them would come to any harm, that Erdőtelek itself would be spared the awful fate which had befallen Rózsafa **,** although he had no way of knowing whether this was true, Tibor had been brought back to the capital under guard. However, at the same time, he had been treated with every courtesy; had even been allotted a First Class compartment, all to himself, on the express from Gyula to Budapest.

* * *

On board the train, his wonts, such as they were, had been attended to, and promptly, while his military escort, under the command of a young subaltern, whom Tibor thought looked scarcely old enough to be shaving, had been conspicuous by its absence. To the extent that, had he been so inclined, on any one of the several occasions when the express had slowed to a virtual crawl, with the door to his compartment left unlocked, Tibor would have had no difficulty whatsoever in slipping off the train and making himself scarce, in the vastness of the Great Hungarian Plain.

However, each time the opportunity to do just that had presented itself, something had prevented Tibor from doing so. Maybe it was to do with his belief in Providence, for as the featureless, flat landscape of the seemingly limitless Alföld slipped away, Tibor found himself recalling what Matthew had once said. That, if given half a chance, Providence would see one through. So, when several hours later the express finally steamed into the terminus at Keleti, Tibor was still sitting in his comfortable corner seat by the window of the First Class compartment.

* * *

Back in Budapest, what was so striking was that, as far as Tibor could tell, as he was taken by motor at a speed of which his sister Ilona would have approved, from the terminus at Keleti, down through Pest and across the Széchenyi Chain Bridge, over which he had driven Mary on the night they had visited the _Arizona_ , and thence up onto the Var, was that life here in the capital continued as it had always done. On the train, while he had been permitted to read a newspaper, he had been unable to find any mention of what had unfolded in the far south eastern quarter of the country. It was as if the nightmare of Rózsafa had never even happened. Now, from his observation of the streets of the capital, the roads thronging with motor traffic, the pavements and the yellow tramcars crowded with pedestrians, the coffee houses and the cafés down on the quaysides fronting the river burgeoning with patrons, here in Budapest all seemed to be blissfully ignorant of the failed coup.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.**

With Matthew, Mary, and Tom safely back in Austria, here at Rosenberg, life began to resume its daily rhythm. Indeed, there was no denying that, up until the three of them had left for their ill-fated trip to Hungary, the time the Bransons and the Crawleys had spent with the Schönborns had been something of an idyll for all concerned. The weather had been positively glorious and, despite the odd _contretemps_ , everyone had rubbed along just famously.

Then, of course, once details of what was afoot in Hungary had leaked out, there had come several days of anxious waiting for those who had remained at Rosenberg, increasingly desperate for news of their loved ones. However, now, whatever had happened there at Rózsafa was, to all intents and purposes, over and done with, and the house burned to a blackened shell. Even if there remained, as yet, no word of what had become of Manfred and Eva, let alone befallen Tibor and young Micky Waldstein.

* * *

 **On The Terrace.**

Not long after Friedrich and the three boys had left to board the mid morning express at the small wayside station of St. Johann, bound for Vienna, later the same morning, out here on the terrace, seated in a pair of wicker chairs, Mary, with Matthew beside her, even if her mind was, betimes, elsewhere, lazed contentedly in the warm sunshine; adjusting once more to the leisurely pace of life as it was lived at Rosenberg.

Not that it would be for long as, in but a matter of days, their time here would have come to an end, with the Bransons and the Crawleys returning to Calais; thence by steamer to Dover, and so up to London where their paths would diverge. The Bransons would be travelling westwards from Paddington, as far as Fishguard in Pembrokeshire in southwest Wales, from where they would catch another steamer, this time bound for Rosslare in County Wexford, and so onto Dublin and Blackrock. For their part, the Crawleys would travel north to Yorkshire by express train from King's Cross, onto Ripon, and thence to Downton.

Thereafter, both Tom and for Sybil would resume the daily grind of their working lives, he at his desk in the offices of _The_ _Independent_ on Talbot Street and she on the wards of the Rotunda Hospital on Dublin's Northside. Across the Irish Sea, over in England, in Yorkshire, Matthew would once more take up the reins of running Downton, pursuing his seemingly never ending quest to set the estate on a secure financial footing and make it pay. For Mary also, albeit, in a different way from the others, life would return to its customary path, with an endless round of committee meetings, patronages and charities, which Mary had inherited from her mother by virtue of the position Mary herself now held as countess of Grantham.

* * *

With Edith inside the house, whence she had gone to discuss with Frau Eder this evening's meal, shading her eyes, down below her, and now some distance off, Mary espied Tom and Sybil, hand in hand, like a pair of village lovers, strolling among the sweet smelling roses and lavender scented borders of Edith's lovingly planted English Garden. Easing herself out of the wicker chair, Mary rose and went and stood beside the balustrade. The balmy summer air indeed smelt heavenly.

A moment later, she felt Matthew's arm encircle her still slender waist. In a few months ... Mary sighed; she was still not at all sure how she felt the forthcoming addition to the family, with, if all went well, the baby due in the spring of next year. While she enjoyed the bed sport that had led to the creation of their children, Mary knew in her heart of hearts that she was not possessed of the same maternal instincts of either Edith or Sybil. Why that was, she didn't know; nor would she even try to hazard a guess.

Mary turned her head; looked directly at Matthew.

"And?" She arched a brow.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.  
"I'm fine; perfectly fine". Mary bit her lower lip.

"Now we both know that isn't true ..." Catching sight of Tom and Sybil, Matthew grinned; nodded in their direction. "Just like Hansel and Gretel!" He laughed.

Mary ignored his levity.

"Darling, you would tell me, wouldn't you? If there was any news ..."

"Of course".

"Whatever it was?"  
Matthew nodded.

"Promise me now".

"I promise".

Hearing yet more laughter, both turned.

Behind them on the sun-baked flag stones of the terrace, on their hands and knees, Simon, Bobby, and Saiorse were once again hunting for the lizards. A moment later, just like an overgrown schoolboy, Matthew had joined them, down along with the children, all four searching for the elusive little reptiles.

Mary smiled, quietly indulgent. Hearing the sound of the piano being played, she began to walk towards the house.

"I think," she said, " I'll go and find Edith; perhaps see if she would like to go for a walk".

Not that her words elicited the slightest response.

* * *

 **In The English Garden.**

"Roses, yes. But never wild flowers". Tom raised Sybil's right hand and brought it swiftly up to his lips.

She never ceased to marvel at his unexpected store of knowledge. They had been talking about flowers, when Tom made his pronouncement, about which could be cut or picked and which should not. Arm in arm, they had now walked as far as the wrought iron gate at the end of the garden which opened onto one of the several paths leading to the lake and the bridge from off which, earlier that same morning, Rob had dived, and little Fritz had pushed his snout through the railings.

The weather was beautiful, with bright sunshine gilding the tips of the distant Alps, dappling through the canopy of the trees, and sparkling on the calm waters of the lake. Here, midst all the beauty and tranquillity that was Rosenberg, it seemed to Tom that what had happened there across the border in Hungary had all been a bad dream; the memory of which was beginning to fade.

And yet ...

* * *

 **South Tower, Stephansdom, Vienna, about the same time.**

The dark, damp, musty smelling interior of the South Tower of the Stephansdom would not have been at all to young Fritz's liking: the reason for which was not hard to fathom. There were steps, more steps, and then even more of the blasted things! On and on they went, up and up, and with this being so, it was just as well that, while Max had wanted to bring Frittie along, the irascible little dachshund had been left behind at Rosenberg.

So, with Danny leading the way, followed by Rob, then Max, and Friedrich bringing up the rear, up they all went; round and round the corkscrew of the narrow, stone, spiral staircase. Although lit by electricity, the steps were still dark, the echoing, fustian gloom punctuated only occasionally by glimpses of daylight afforded by means of small, narrow windows which, by peering through them, gave both the boys and Friedrich some idea of just how high they were from off the ground. Yet despite the fact that outside it was a hot summer's day here within the confines of the spiral stair it was both chill and cold. And, also slightly creepy.

Behind them in the gloom, several times, Friedrich thought he heard footsteps but when he paused on the stair to listen more intently, there was nothing to be heard. Ahead of him, round the curve of the spiral, in the fug of darkness, Friedrich now heard another sound: Danny acting the fool, groaning and moaning, calling out to Rob and Max, telling them that the tower was haunted.

"Is it, Papa?" Max asked, casting a nervous look back over his shoulder at his father, so that he almost stumbled on the worn treads of the stair.

"Max! Careful! Remember what I told you!" Friedrich reached out a steadying hand to prevent Max tripping and falling, something which would prove disastrous. "Are you all right?"

Having regained his balance, not wishing to be thought an invalid, especially in earshot of his two cousins, with a none too good grace, Max cast off his father's restraining hand.

"I'm fine, Papa! Don't fuss!" he hissed, repeating the very same words he had heard Danny utter after his accident out at the Old Tower. Friedrich chose to let Max's rudeness pass; replied instead to Danny's question as to whether the tower was haunted.

"Not that I have ever heard tell! However, if it would be to your liking then, later tonight, back at Rosenberg, I will tell you of some of the strange happenings I experienced when I was out in Arabia".

Robert could not contain his enthusiasm.

"Yes, please, Uncle Friedrich!"

"Yes, please, Papa!"

"Very well then".

From several steps up, Danny too nodded his assent.

"Only so long as Ma doesn't find out, for sure!"

"Why ever not?" asked his uncle.

"Because ..." Danny paused.

"Because what, my boy?"

"Well, one Hallowe'en, while Ma was at the hospital, Da read Saiorse, Bobby, and me, some ghost stories. Later that night, Bobby wet his bed, and when Ma wormed it out of him why he was so frightened, she was mighty mad at Da. I heard her, Uncle Friedrich! Going at him like a banshee, she was!"

"What's a _banshee_?" Max asked. He had never heard the word before.

"A ghostly, wailing woman," explained Danny with a nod and assuming a knowing air. Not that Max was any the wiser. Aunt Sybil was very much alive and, to the best of Max's recollection, he had never once ever heard her wail.

Hearing all this about Sybil from his Irish nephew, Friedrich had to smile. He loved his younger sister-in-law dearly; admired her greatly, well aware that she and darling Edith had far more in common with each other than with the aristocratic Mary. However, Sybil was slight of build and Friedrich was more than a little amused to hear at first hand how she managed to put the fear of God into her men folk - young or old. Not, of course, that Friedrich would ever believe her to be a termagant. Nonetheless, Edith, too, had her moments, but these days they were comparatively rare; usually born out of the continued stress of coping with Max's repeated bouts of ill health as a result of his haemophilia.

* * *

 **Rosenberg, a short while later**.

Quite unexpectedly, there came the sound of a gunshot, followed swiftly by the report of another. Then a third. No doubt it was just hunters in the woods, either that or else perhaps poachers, but whichever it was, the sound was enough to send Tom scurrying for cover behind the trunk of the nearest tree, crouching down, and covering his ears with his hands.

Sybil was beside him in a moment; she kneeling, her arms about him, holding him close as if her physical presence could somehow shield him from whatever it was that had so frightened him. Only once before could she recall seeing Tom like this, and that had been years ago, in the aftermath of his return from the nightmare of what had befallen him at Allihies during the Irish War of Independence.

"Oh, my poor darling! Whatever is it?" When Tom didn't answer, she cupped his face between her hands; looked into his eyes. ""There are things to tell me, aren't there?" While her words had the semblance of a question, they were in fact a statement of fact.

Tom didn't answer her; seemed unaware of her presence. Without saying a word, he stood up; held out his hand to her which she took unquestioningly. Let him lead her forward in silence down the path through the tress, as far as the middle of bridge over the lake where, letting go of her hand, Tom leaned forward on the wooden rail, staring out into the middle distance, oblivious both to her and his immediate surroundings, with his own hands clasped together, so tightly that his knuckles blanched. After fourteen years of marriage, Sybil knew him too well. Her hands closed over his.

"Tell me," she whispered.

* * *

 **On The Bridge.**

When, at last, Tom made an end of things, having finished telling Sybil all that had happened involving Fergal, she stood in silence, aghast at what she had learned, of just how close all three of them, Matthew, Mary, and her own precious darling, had come of being within a hair's breadth of never returning to Rosenberg. When, before, Tom had told her it had been bad, had hinted that there were things he had not said, never for a single moment could Sybil have imagined any of what she had now heard. So, for a while, standing there beside him, she said nothing. When she did it was to try and make him see that what had so nearly come to pass was not his fault; that in no way was Tom himself to blame.

"Tom, darling, there are rotten apples in every barrel. From what you've said, for whatever reason, it seems to me that your cousin only finds pleasure in the unhappiness of others. But it's not your fault. None of it is. You're not responsible for how ..."

* * *

 **Royal Palace, Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933.**

"The question still remains, therefore, as to what is to be done with him". The Regent drummed his fingers impatiently on the top of the mahogany desk.

"Your Serene Highness, forgive me, but the remedy rests with you. Surely ..."

Seeing the grim look that had descended on Horthy's face, Fergal, realising that he must have sounded at best presumptuous, at worst impertinent, paused; stopped what he had been about to say. All the same, the fact remained that, with Csáky now back here in Budapest and under close arrest, what Fergal had expected to be done, and in short time, was for the meddlesome captain to be put up against a wall and shot. Whether or not the government of the Kingdom of Hungary then chose to give out that he had died heroically in defence of the Regent and his government and afford him the public spectacle of a State Funeral was a matter of supreme indifference to the Nazi officer.

" _Surely_?" echoed Horthy. "Surely, what, if you please?"

"I was about to say, sir, that an example should be made of Csáky. In order to serve as a warning to others who ..."

"Perhaps. But now I think ..." Horthy glanced pointedly at the gold pocket watch lying on the desk, signalling obliquely that the audience was at an end.

Displeased, decidedly so, taking care to mask his rising anger, Fergal stood, clicked his heels, saluted, turned, and left the room in a high dudgeon.

* * *

Once outside, in one of the several courtyards of the palace, Fergal paused beneath an archway to light a cigarette. He was singularly unimpressed. To have been cheated out of a reckoning with Branson and the Crawleys was bad enough but now it looked as though Csáky was slipping through his fingers too.

Nonetheless, while Fergal would have been only too happy to have had Tibor taken out and shot, would, if he had been asked to do so, without any hesitation whatsoever, gladly have commanded the firing squad, he was also, if only grudgingly so, well aware that there were other considerations to be taken into account.

Not least was the fact that in the Foreign Ministry on the Wilhelmstrasse in Berlin the view was very much the same as it was in the Foreign Office in London: that, at least for the present, the government of Admiral Horthy was the best chance Hungary had of avoiding the growing threat of Bolshevism from the east. Drawing attention to the fact that there had been an attempted coup would do nothing to convince those opposed to the Regent's continued stranglehold on power that he was secure; indeed, quite the contrary and might yet tempt them to try again and, in the process, do the regime irreparable harm in terms of its prestige both at home and abroad. So, while for many the installation on the vacant throne of St. Stephen of Crown Prince Otto might well seem an attractive proposition, it was open to question as to whether, having become king, the young man would be able to unite all of Hungary behind him; for their were those here equally opposed to the return of the Habsburgs.

Fergal himself was ambivalent about the whole institution of monarchy. His experience of it in Ireland, when the country had been under British rule, had not endeared him to it, even to a constitutional king. In Fergal's adopted homeland of Germany its last Kaiser continued to live out his life in exile in the Netherlands, just as he had done for the past fifteen years, with little or no prospect of the Hohenzollern dynasty ever returning to the throne; decidedly less so now that the Fuhrer had assumed the mantle of supreme power in Germany.

All the same, there was yet one glimmer of light. Although the initial attempt to silence Schönborn had proved abortive, from his contacts there in the Austrian capital, Fergal had learned a further attempt would be made in Vienna on the morrow: at the Riesenrad.

And this time, there would be no mistake.

* * *

 **South Tower, Stephansdom, Vienna, Austria, the following day.**

At length, and at a dizzying height, although there were, in due course, still yet more steps for them to climb, the spiral stairs brought Friedrich and the boys briefly outside the ornate face of tower, onto a short, narrow, balustraded, stone gallery from which was to be had a spectacular view over the streets, squares, spires, and rooftops of the north eastern quarter of Vienna.

While the three boys gazed down over the city, Friedrich pointed out for them several of the landmarks which were visible, including the huge sprawl of the copper green roofs and domes of the Hofburg, one of the many palaces that, formerly, had belonged to the Habsburgs. There, equally far below, was the Graben, which they had crossed but a short while earlier on their way here from the Central Café. Perhaps the most famous street in all of Vienna, with its fountains and lamp posts, the busy pavements of which were lined with shops, their canvas awnings lowered to their full extent to try and ward off the heat of the day. Visible too, much more so than it had been from the ground, was the cathedral's distinctive, polychromatic roof, made up of thousands of colourful tiles, along with a proliferation of statues and gargoyles, barely visible from the ground.

It was as they left the gallery and went once more inside the tower, to view the _Pummerin_ , the largest bell in the Stephansdom, that, while as before he said nothing to the boys, Friedrich thought again he heard footsteps behind them. However, no-one emerged on to the gallery and so he assumed that this time it could only have been the echo of their own footfalls.

* * *

 **Royal Palace, Budapest, Hungary, summer 1933.**

Of course, Captain Tibor Csáky of the Regent's Escort had stood in this palatial room many times before, but never once could he recall doing so in such unusual circumstances. In the bright mid-morning August sunshine, here in the Throne Room, on the first floor of the empty Royal Palace, looking out of the window at the scene spread out below him, Tibor thought the pale red domed bulk of the parliament building fronting _Kossuth tér_ , Kossuth Square, and stretching for all of some 268 metres along the east bank of the Danube, looked even more impressive than it did usually.

The view from up here on the Var, the ancient citadel, situated at the very heart of Óbuda - old Buda - down over the upstart town of Pest - it and Buda had only been joined together as recently as 1873 so as to create the new metropolis of Budapest, was truly magnificent. Below, the slow moving, sluggish, grey waters of the Danube sparkled in the sunlight. The surface of the river was alive with all manner of craft, both commercial - this, principally, in the form of lighters, together with slow moving, heavily laden barges - and pleasure steamers.

Chugging its way self-importantly southwards, and now passing directly below where Tibor was standing, was a large patrol boat belonging to the _Magyar Kirali_ _Folyamőrség,_ the Royal Hungarian River Guard, under the command of the Interior Ministry, and which monitored traffic on the Danube, the longest river in all of Europe. At one time, Tibor had feared he himself might have been forced to suffer the ignominy of enduring an aimless, desultory military career in the ranks of the River Guard, the existence of which was one of the ways the regime of Admiral Horthy had sought to circumvent the strictly circumscribed limits of soldiery permitted to the Kingdom of Hungary after the end of the Great War. As the patrol boat nosed on its way, and disappeared out of view downstream in the direction of the Erzsébet bridge, hearing the door open behind him, Tibor turned away from the window.

"Captain Csáky?"  
Tibor nodded curtly at the adjutant standing in the open doorway.

"If you would follow me, please, sir ..."

* * *

"It would seem that you have a benefactor," Horthy observed drily, holding out a letter upon which, while he could not read its contents, Tibor glimpsed briefly the royal coat of arms of the United Kingdom.

"Your Highness?" Tibor's face was a mask of inscrutability.

Horthy nodded. He set down the letter, laced his fingers together, looking down the length of his nose, seemingly at the at the surface of his desk.

"Oh, yes, decidedly so. The letter is from the British Ambassador, Chilston vicomte, with whom I believe you are already well acquainted?"  
"Highness?"  
"No matter. In it, His Excellency the ambassador makes it abundantly clear that sparing your life is a price that must be paid for this country to continue enjoying the favour of Great Britain. So be it. But then, just what am I to do with you?"

* * *

 **Rosenberg, Lower Austria, about the same time.**

"Why, darling, that's perfectly lovely," said Mary now coming to stand beside Edith at the grand piano in what she supposed must be the Music Room. Edith had called it something like that, or so it had sounded, when she had shown it to them upon their arrival here several weeks ago. Like most of the principal rooms at Rosenberg the furnishings were swathed in dust sheets; save that was for the grand piano at which Edith was now seated.

Edith paused in her piano playing, looked up from the keyboard, and smiled a smile of singular sweetness.

"Why, thank you, darling. Yes, it is. It's called _Suo Gân_ _._ A friend in Vienna, a Miss Henderson, who teaches both English and the piano, taught it me".

Mary nodded. By the title, clearly not an English piece and which, she assumed, must therefore be German.

The top of the grand piano was littered with framed photographs. She saw Edith glance at the one nearest to her, this one framed in ebony, and which stood slightly apart from all the rest. It was of Max but a year or so younger, Mary supposed, than he was now, sitting atop the terrace wall at the rear of the house, and smiling broadly. A moment later, still looking at the photograph, Edith began to sing:

 _Huna blentyn ar fy mynwes,_  
 _Clyd a chynnes ydyw hon;_  
 _Breichiau mam sy'n dynn amdanat,_  
 _Cariad mam sy dan fy mron;_  
 _Ni chaiff dim amharu'th gyntun,_  
 _Ni wna undyn â thi gam;_  
 _Huna'n dawel, annwyl blentyn,_  
 _Huna'n fwyn ar fron dy fam_

Edith fell silent; the gentle, lilting notes faded away. Yet, for all that, something like an echo of the tune, still lingered here in the room.

"It has the quality of a lullaby. German?"

"No, Welsh actually. And, yes, it is a lullaby. I used to sing it to Max when he was an infant and a little boy. At times, I still do ... when he's unwell". Mary smiled down at her sister. In that one sentence, quite by chance, Edith had managed to encapsulate just how different she and Sybil had been from Mary in their approach to the rearing of their children; how different their experiences had been from her own.

Edith looked once more at the photograph of Max. Now, with her eyes still fixed steadfastly upon it, she spoke again.

"It's odd, isn't it?"  
"What is?"  
"That you and I have never really hit it off ..."  
"Darling, this is hardly the time to ..."  
Edith nodded.

"Agreed; but all the same we both know that it's true. That being so, it's one of life's greatest of all ironies that you have become so very fond of darling Max and because of that, there's something which you should know. However, I must have your promise, Mary, that you won't breathe a word of what I'm about to tell you. Not to anyone. Not even to Matthew".

"Darling, I ..."

Edith waved her into silence.

"Promise me, now". An echo of what Mary herself had said a short while earlier to Matthew.

"Of course, if that's what you want".  
"It is".

"Then, I promise".

Edith paused; as if she was making up her mind about something.

"What you have to understand is that ... recently ... Friedrich and I were told by a specialist ... one in Vienna ... that for Max, twenty, or thereabouts, would be a good age. Beyond that ..." Edith continued to stare at the photograph.

Mary was appalled. While she knew that darling Max had to take the very greatest care of himself so as to try and avoid all manner of even minor mishaps be it a bump, a knock, a fall, even a cut knee and which for any healthy boy would have caused no problem whatsoever but which for Max could prove fatal. Of course whatever Friedrich and Edith tried to do, accidents still continued to occur: witness what had happened here at Rosenberg out at the pool. All this apart, Mary had assumed that, as he grew into manhood, Max would eventually come to lead a more or less normal life. Never for once had she suspected that he would not live a normal span.

"Does ... does Max know?" she asked hesitantly.

"He knows what's wrong with him, yes. As for the rest, no. And he must never know!"

"No, of course not. But surely there must be something more that can be done".

Edith shook her head.

"Perhaps one day, in years to come, a cure will be found. But, for the present, no".

Mary now sought desperately to try and change the subject.

"Darling, I don't think I've heard you play the piano since ... not since the war".

Edith smiled.

"No, and these days, what with the children, with Max especially, and now with Kurt, with Friedrich, with Rosenberg, and with all my other activities, I find I don't have the time. But you're right ... that would have been at the concert we gave at Downton, for the wounded officers, when Matthew and William came back unexpectedly from France?"

Mary nodded. Briefly, the passing years rolled away and in her mind's eye she saw again the Drawing Room as it had been on that occasion; the rows of seats occupied for the most part by patients from the hospital which had been set up within Downton's magnificent ground floor rooms. Saw Granny and their parents too and Sybil in her nurse's uniform standing at the back of the room. And beside her, smart in his chauffeur's uniform, darling Tom. And then, Matthew and William Mason appearing unexpectedly through the open doorway ...

Edith trilled out the first few notes of the tune, _If You Were The Only Girl In The World_ , and which, at the time, back in 1916, had only just been written. "Remember?"

"How could I ever forget ... the Crawley sisters!"

"Nor I. Nor what you said ... about us both pulling together".

"Oh, my pleasure, it was nothing". Mary saw Edith look once again at the photograph of Max.

"Friedrich and I both agreed that we shouldn't wrap him up in cotton wool but all the same, when we're apart, I worry, even though I know Friedrich will take the very greatest care to see that ..."

"Of course you do. Your his mother. I wonder what there doing now".

"No doubt having a whale of a time, with Friedrich spoiling them rotten. Before they left here, he said something about taking the boys to the Central Cafè for hot chocolate and pastries".

* * *

 **South Tower, Stephansdom, Vienna, a** **bout the same time.**

Back inside the tower, Friedrich and the boys found themselves in a lofty room with a high ceiling in which they stood to stare in wonderment at the massive bell known as the _Pummerin._ Adorned with religious figures depicting the Immaculate Conception, St. Joseph, St. Mary, and St. Leopold bearing, as Friedrich explained, the arms of Austria, Bohemia, Hungary, and the Holy Roman Empire, the bell, rung only on very special occasions, and so presently resting on two huge wooden beams, with a diameter of well over three metres, the _Pummerin_ , having been cast in 1705 from canons captured from the Turks following the Second Siege of Vienna in 1683, was truly enormous. According to Friedrich, on the handful of occasions that the bell was rung – on the Feast of Corpus Christi, on Christmas Eve, and on the Feast of St. Stephen, the cathedral's patron, and so forth - only the clapper was swung, the bell itself remaining stationary for fear that if it was swung the massive vibration of the bell risked bringing down the whole of the South Tower.

"Have you ever heard it rung, Papa?" Max asked.

"Several times, my boy; the last some years before you were born, back in 1916, during the Great War, when it was tolled for the funeral of the late Emperor, Franz Joseph".

Their viewing of the bell over, on the four of them went, climbing yet more steps, up and up, and further still, as far as the _Türmerstube_ , the Watchman's Chamber, the highest point in all of Vienna, which in times past at night was where a man resided, charged with the important task of keeping watch over the sleeping city during the hours of darkness, ready to raise the alarm in case of fire.

In all directions, the views from the tall windows of the Watchman's Chamber out over Vienna were truly breath taking, Friedrich pointing out to the boys some of what they could see; buildings, landmarks, and so forth. To the north again the Prater, then southwards the wide expanse of the Karlsplatz, and on the horizon the dark smudge of the Wienerwald, while to the east the two palaces of the Upper and Lower Belvederes, and out to the west the dome of the Peterskirche, the roofs of the Hofburg, the ornate towers of the Rathaus, and the twin spires of the Votivkirche, the last built in thanksgiving for the survival of Franz Joseph, when a man had tried to kill him.

"So, what did the man try and do?" Danny asked eagerly.

Friedrich smiled. Boys always wanted to know the gory, grisly details of such events. He could empathise with that having been just the same when he was the age Danny was now.

"He tried to stab the emperor with a knife, while he was out for a stroll on the _glacis,_ the open area surrounding the old city. Fortunately, the emperor was saved from any serious injury by the high collar of his military uniform which deflected the knife and also by the quick actions of the officer accompanying him, Count Maximilian O'Donnell ..."

Danny's ears pricked up immediately.

"O'Donnell? Why, that's an Irish name".

"Indeed. The count was of Irish descent. He struck the assassin down with his sword. Then, later, in gratitude for saving his life, the emperor made the count a member of the Austrian nobility".

Danny nodded.

"Da says yous can always depend on an Irishman!"

Friedrich smiled.

"No doubt".

"For sure. He's my Da!"

A moment or two later, hurried footsteps sounded close on the uppermost stairs.

"Herr Schönborn?"

* * *

Hearing first the footsteps, and then the calling of his name, Friedrich, while not a fearful man, half turned, glanced towards the doorway at the head of the stairs, at the same time placing his right arm protectively about his young son's shoulders, drawing Max close. Sensing his father's concern, the boy glanced up.

"Who is it, Papa?" he asked.

"I don't rightly know. Danny, Rob, if you please, quickly now, over here, yes, by Max and me".

Clearly mystified, nonetheless, the two boys did as they had been asked, leaving the window from where they had been standing gazing out over Vienna, hurriedly crossing the room, and coming to stand beside their uncle, now likewise gazing towards the open doorway.

A moment later and two men, neither of whom were known to Friedrich, came forward into the Watchman's Chamber.

Friedrich looked questioningly at them.

"What do you want of me?" Friedrich asked, trying his best to keep his voice neutral. The nearer of the two smiled, walked forward, holding out his right hand in friendly greeting.

"Herr Schönborn, we meet at last. There is an English phrase, I believe, is there not? Something about friends and enemies? Shalom!"

* * *

" _Keep your friends close and your enemies closer_ ," attributed to Machiavelli, or so it is said," observed Friedrich drily; introductions now having been swiftly made by the two men, Felix Herzog and Joachim Klein, who, it transpired, were friends of Goldstein and the others of the Jüdische Selbstwehr and likewise hailed from Leopoldstadt, the Jewish quarter situated in the Second District of the city.

"Indeed. And also please to bear in mind, too, just how innocently children chatter. _Die Wände haben Ohren_. As I told you, a moment ago, walls have ears". Herzog paused. "Even in your own household".

Friedrich was appalled by the revelation which showed openly in his face.

"You mean it was one of my own people ..."

"Quite so".

"But, the servants at Rosenberg are beyond reproach. Most of them … all in fact … they and their forbears … have served my family for generations. Who among them would ever do such a thing?"

Herzog looked at Klein who quickly shook his head.

"Given that the problem has now been dealt with, it no longer matters who it _was_ ". The stress Herzog placed on the very last word was faint but there nonetheless. And, besides …" Herzog nodded towards the three boys.

Friedrich understood; was only too well aware of how Goldstein and the others had dealt with the would-be assassin on the hillside several nights ago. So, Herzog did not need to go into further details. Certainly not with Danny, Robert, and darling Max all within earshot of what was now being discussed. Friedrich smiled at the boys. Then in order to be able to speak more freely, he and the two Jews drew further apart. They came to a stand over by the doorway at the head of the tower stairs.

"Are you absolutely sure about all of this?" asked Friedrich, hollow voiced.

"Let me ask you, Herr Schönborn, has our intelligence ever been found wanting in the past?" Klein asked.

Friedrich's eyes twinkled; he shook his head.

"No, indeed. Quite the opposite. Although, speaking purely for myself, you understand, your warning a few nights ago, was delivered somewhat late!"  
Klein grinned.

"It may surprise you to learn that, here in Austria, our organisation does have other calls upon its time". Herzog smiled.

Now it was Friedrich's turn to smile.

"Why on earth are you doing this for me? After all, it's hardly the first time …"  
"As I think Goldstein once told you, for what your wife did for some of our brethren here in Vienna. And also because, with what is coming, for all of us here in Austria, but especially for us Jews, you have certain contacts who, in the future, may prove useful: the earl of Grantham for one, as well as your other brother-in-law, the newspaperman".

"Herr Branson".

"Just so. And there are others too. For example in the Archaeological Institute".

"Really? _With what is coming,_ Forgive me, but it sounds to me very much as if you have some prior knowledge of what is to happen here in Austria? Do you?"

"If only that were true!" Herzog sighed. "But no. It is merely a question of keeping our eyes and ears open, as well as reading between the lines. Especially now that jumped up little corporal has come to power over there in Germany".

"And the purpose of what you have proposed is …"

"To make them show their hand …"

"Lure them into the open?"

"If you that is how you choose to view it. Then, yes".

"And after? Will they then desist?"

Herzog shrugged.  
"Who knows? However, they, whoever _they_ maybe, have already lost two men in the previous attempt made on your life the other night. Once this business of today is over and done with, I suspect they will leave you alone. After all, they have, if you will pardon me for saying so, far bigger fish to fry than you. Dollfuss, for one".

Friedrich nodded. That the diminutive Dollfuss, the chancellor of Austria, should be firmly in the sights of those opposed to him and his newly created Vaterländische Front, founded a matter of months ago, and with Austria heading towards becoming a one party state, came as no great news to Friedrich. What did amaze him though was how Dollfuss had managed to survive for so long.

"Can you be sure of that?"

"As certain as one can be of anything these days".

"Indeed; as for those on the political right …" began Klein.  
"By whom I presume you mean the mean the National Socialists here in Austria".

"Perhaps. But whatever they may call themselves, be it the Vaterländische Front, the Österreichische Legion, the Nazis, to us Jews they are all one and the same. Hakenkreuzler!"

While the Vaterländische Front was not openly anti-semitic, Friedrich could well understand why Klein felt as he did.

"What about …"  
He nodded towards where Max and his cousins were still standing over by the window.

"They will come to no harm. You have our word on that".

"All the same, after your English and Irish relations have left Austria, it would be for the best if you do as you intend and travel out to Palestine to take charge of the excavations at Samaria when they resume next month".

Friedrich could not conceal his surprise.

"How the devil do you know that? Why, confirmation that I was to lead the excavation there was only communicated to me this morning by telegram. I haven't even yet had a chance to discuss it properly with my wife".

"Herr Schönborn, we have all manner of contacts, including some that might surprise you". Klein smiled.

"Now, it is essential that you board the Riesenrad, precisely at two o'clock".

"But what if others should try and board the same …."

"They won't. The attendant on duty will be one of our own men. And, after all, the Riesenrad is Jewish owned".

Friedrich nodded. Everyone in Vienna had heard of the Jewish entrepreneur, Gabor Steiner, who had made the Wurstelprater what it was today - even if in doing so he had been bankrupted several times over.

"Herr Schönborn, we would not be asking this of you were it not absolutely necessary; if we did not have every faith in your ability to see this thing through. Nonetheless, it is imperative that you board the Riesenrad, exactly at two o'clock, and then all remain seated in the gondola. Is that clearly understood?"

"But can you be certain that …" He glanced nervously in the direction of Max and his cousins. Friedrich was taking an enormous risk and he knew it.

"Provided that you do exactly as we have said, then no harm will come, either to you, or the boys".

"Very well". Friedrich swallowed hard. He was not sure about any of this, but there seemed no other option other than to do exactly as Herzog had said.

"In that case, we'd all best be on our way. And while it will take us a while to descend the stairs here, it will be better if we are not seen leaving here together. One never knows who may be watching. So, I suggest that you and the boys leave now. Klein and I will follow on in due course".

Again Friedrich nodded; what Herzog proposed made perfect sense. All the same, Friedrich knew that if anything went awry, Edith would never forgive him were, God forbid, any harm to befall either Max or his cousins. Nor, would any of the others staying at Rosenberg, all of them blissfully unaware of what was now unfolding here in the bustling, thronging metropolis of Vienna.

* * *

A short while later, Friedrich and the boys had reached the door at the bottom of the worn steps leading down from the _Türmerstube_ atop the South Tower, and from where they now emerged into the warmth of the afternoon sunshine.

"Papa?"  
"Hm?"

"Who were those two men? What did they want?" Max asked.

Friedrich looked down fondly at his son, ruffled his sandy hair, and smiled.

"Friends," he said crisply before, and he hoped not too obviously, promptly changing the subject. "Now, boys, let's find the tram to take us out to the Wurstelprater".

* * *

 **Wurstelprater, Second District of Vienna, a short while later.**

Their journey out to the Prater, the large park gifted to the citizenry of Vienna as long ago as 1766 by the Emperor Joseph II, proved uneventful even if Friedrich found himself anxiously and repeatedly scanning the faces of those boarding the crowded, clanging, rattling, red and white tram for anyone who might be following them. For their part, the three boys were far too busy enjoying themselves to notice that anything at all was wrong.

Even so, as Edith had said many times before, darling Max was old for his years and, several times during their journey out to the Prater, Friedrich found his son's eyes upon him; saw Max regarding him thoughtfully.

* * *

This hot August day, here in the Wurstelprater, the long established amusement grounds which occupied but a part of the Prater, the Viennese were out in force. Crowds of men, women, and children, whether _en famille_ , in couples, in twos or threes, or else singularly, everyone intent on enjoying themselves in the warm afternoon sunshine. Having climbed down from the packed tram, with Friedrich now leading the way, telling the boys to be sure and stay close to him and to each other, all four of them made their way from the tram stop over to the entrance to the Wurstelprater.

* * *

The boys had never seen anything quite like it.

Just as there had been no comparison between Bewley's in Dublin, the Cathedral tea rooms in Ripon, and the Central Café here in Vienna, so too with the Wurstelprater. While Da had taken Danny, Saiorse, and Bobby to several fairgrounds in and around Dublin, and Rob and Simon had gone together to the annual Statute Fair held in Downton - even if Mama disapproved, Papa saw no harm in it - none of the boys had experienced anything that matched what was on offer here in the Wurstelprater.

On entering the amusement grounds, like everyone else, they were immediately assailed, and from all sides, by a cacophony of competing noises, a kaleidoscope of colours, as well as a mouth-watering assault on their nostrils and taste buds by a multitude of competing savoury and sweet smells coming from the coffee houses, beer gardens, gingerbread bakers, and the Schweizerhaus, the Swiss House known for its wonderful menu. The numerous gaily, gaudy, painted booths and rides, the shooting galleries, puppet shows, the _Hochschaubahn_ or rollercoaster, the merry-go-rounds, swing boats, chair-o-planes, carousels, swirls, caterpillars, cakewalks, and bowling alleys were doing a roaring trade. So too the recently extended _Liliputbahn_ , the miniature railway, which was proving especially popular, its little carriages all but packed to capacity as the trains were pulled round a circuit of several kilometres by scaled down reproductions of two steam locomotives.

And, with everything here seeming so perfectly commonplace and nothing appearing to be amiss, in no time at all, Danny, Rob, and Max soon forgot all thought of the strange encounter with the two Jewish men in the _Türmerstube_ at the top of the South Tower of the Stephansdom.

* * *

While the three boys continued to stand and look about them, to see what was on offer, somewhere, a band struck up with the overture to Lehar's _The Merry Widow_. For his part, Friedrich hoped it was not prophetic. Not that he could see Edith in the guise of a widow; far from it and certainly not a merry one. Now, glancing up he saw, as he knew he would, towering over everything, dominating the park and its numerous rides, the enormous ferris wheel, opened in 1897 during the celebrations staged to mark Franz Joseph's Golden Jubilee, and known to all of Vienna as ... the Riesenrad.

 **Author's Note:**

Many of you will know the piano piece Edith plays to Mary as it is sung by the English boys' school choir in Steven Spielberg's loss-of-innocence film _Empire of the_ Sun. The alcoholic Miss Henderson first appeared in my story _The Snow Waltz_.

Since the Second World War great advances have been made in the treatment of haemophilia so that today most haemophiliacs can lead relatively normal lives. However, there is still no cure for the condition.

For what happened to Tom out at Allihies see my very first story, _Home Is Where The Heart Is._

The description of the interior of the South Tower of the Stephansdom is as it was prior to the end of the Second World War when a fire, started by looters in nearby shops, spread to the cathedral, destroyed the wooden cradle supporting the _Pummerin_ which then crashed to the ground and shattered. Later recast from the broken original, the bell was rehung but in the North Tower where it can still be seen today.

What Friederich tells the boys about the attempt on the life of the late emperor (in 1853) is perfectly true.

At the end of the Great War, Germany's kaiser, Wilhelm II (1859-1941) fled to the Netherlands where he was granted political asylum by the Dutch government. He never returned to Germany and the house where he lived out his days - Huis Doorn **-** (in English, Doorn Manor) is now a museum, preserved exactly as it was when the kaiser lived there. Like young Max, the kaiser's favourite dogs were dachshunds, and five of them are buried in the park at Doorn.

Erzsébet bridge - the Elizabeth Bridge, built between 1897-1903 and named for the wife of Emperor Franz Joseph. Destroyed during WWII, the bridge was later rebuilt 1961-64 but not to the original design.

 _Jüdische Selbstwehr_ \- the name of one of the Jewish organisations formed in Vienna in the 1930s to try and protect Jews from attacks by right wing para military groups such as those mentioned by Klein.

 _Hakenkreuzler_ "thugs bearing the swastika".

The Riesenrad was Jewish owned until 1938 when it was confiscated from its owner Gabor Steiner (1858-1944) the father of the Hollywood composer Max Steiner. The elder Steiner was the entrepreneur who made the early twentieth century Wurstelprater a success, by constantly re-inventing what was on offer in the way of entertainment, so that the crowds kept coming back. To this end, it was he who instigated the building of the Riesenrad in 1897. While the ferris wheel was badly damaged in WWII it was rebuilt and can still be ridden on today. It plays a prominent role in Carol Reed's film _The Third Man._


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty One

Roll Call Of The Dead

 **Praterstern, Leopoldstadt, Second District, Vienna, summer 1933.**

Here in Leopoldstadt, not far from the imposing castellated, turreted buildings of the Nordbahnhof, for many immigrants arriving in the capital of the then sprawling territories of the Austro-Hungarian Empire their very first glimpse of Vienna, ever since 1886 the bronze effigy commemorating Admiral Tegetthof had gazed down, sightless, unseeing of one and all, from the top his soaring eleven metre high column, looking out across the wide expanse of the Praterstern, one of the largest squares in all of the city.

On the face of it, the shocking discovery made early one morning by a street sweeper, of the body of a one armed man who had been battered to death, stripped naked, and his beaten and bloodied corpse left lying face down in the dirt and detritus of an alleyway off the square, had nothing at all to do with those residing permanently or but temporarily, at Rosenberg. But, as subsequent events were very shortly to prove, it most certainly did.

As for the one armed man, a local resident, being well known locally, he was soon identified; a former soldier of the 6th _Landwehr_ Infantry Regiment who, since the end of the war, like so many others of his kind, had eked out a penurious existence, begging for food and money on the streets of Vienna.

* * *

 **On The Terrace, Rosenberg, two days later.**

A short while later, arm in arm, the two sisters strolled companionably out onto the sunny terrace to find that, along with the three children, Matthew had given up hunting for lizards. Along with Saiorse, he was now seated in a wicker chair with Simon perched beside him on one of the arms, something which he would never have been permitted to do at home. As for young Bobby, in the absence of his own parents, looking for all the world like an Irish leprechaun, he had seated himself cross-legged on the table, and was engaged busily in tossing pebbles over the top of the terrace wall, taken from a heap of small stones piled beside him.

If Matthew still had had Moseley as his valet, which, of course, he didn't, long ago thinking it utterly ridiculous that he should have a man servant to help him dress, then, thought Mary, Moseley would undoubtedly have had something pithy to say about the dusty state of the knees of His Lordship's pale grey trousers, of which Matthew himself seemed entirely oblivious. Just as he seemed to be blissfully unaware either of Simon perched beside him on the arm of his chair or of young Bobby seated on the table. Yet, if Matthew had noticed, which knowing him as she did, Mary thought seemed more than likely, given his nature, he had chosen to say nothing.

Mary sighed despondently.

At times she thought Matthew to be far too indulgent; letting the children run rings round him. All the same, given what he, she herself, and darling Tom had just been through over there in Hungary, in the scheme of things, Mary found herself thinking that in this, as in so many things, not that she ever liked to admit it, Matthew probably had the right of it. After all, did it really matter? Any of it?

Catching some of what Matthew was now saying, Mary and Edith realised that he was telling the three children about his responsibilities as the earl of Grantham. What Matthew himself, emulating His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales, often referred to, much to Mary's consternation, somewhat derisorily, as _earling._ This being Matthew's own made up word for his many and varied duties; presently explaining to the children how much of his time was taken up running the Downton Abbey estate.

Of course, much of what Matthew had to say came as no surprise whatsoever to Simon but what undoubtedly did was the fact that, in the absence of Robert, off as he was with Danny and Max along with Uncle Friedrich in Vienna, that, save for his two cousins, Simon had something he had but rarely: his father's undivided attention. Well, almost.

"Da says we don't need an aris … aristoc …" Saiorse fumbled for the word.

"Aristocracy?" suggested her uncle helpfully with a laugh.

"Grand!" said Saiorse. "Da says it's an out ... out ... something or other ... relic".

"Outworn relic?"

"That's what Da said, for sure!"

"I'm certain he did. In fact, I think your Da's probably right," said Matthew, nodding his head.

"For sure he is. He's my Da!" Saiorse likewise nodded her head and just as emphatically as had her uncle.

Matthew smiled. There was, of course, no gain saying that. He could just hear his Irish brother-in-law banging on at length about the evils of feudalism but decided that, nonetheless, he would still try to defend his own corner; much as Matthew had done with Tom so many times in the past. More often than not this had been during their nightly game of billiards when the Bransons had come to stay at Downton, and usually after consuming several glasses of Matthew's own whisky, Tom became even more loquacious and got on his high horse about the iniquities of the British class system. However, given Saiorse's age, Matthew did his best to put what he wanted to say into words which he hoped would be intelligible to a girl of twelve.

"Agreed. However, darling, just for a moment, what if there was no earl of Grantham …"

Saiorse was flummoxed and it showed. She frowned; looked quizzically across at her uncle.

"But there is. **You are** ".

Again Matthew nodded his head.

"Yes, but, think, what if there wasn't? Who would employ all the people who now work on the estate? Not only the servants up at the big house, but the tenant farmers and the agricultural labourers who work the farms, who plant and harvest the crops, the hedge cutters who make the hedges secure, who trim them and keep them neat and in order, the woodcutters who look after the coppices and the woods, the stone masons who repair the cottages, the barns, and all the other buildings on the estate, not forgetting old Pullan down at the smithy in the village who shoes the horses, including _Speedwell_ , your Aunt Mary's mare, and makes the metal tyres for the cart wheels ..."

But before Matthew could continue further with his explanation, or indeed Saiorse make to reply, there came the sound of a motor, to be precise two of them coming up the long drive at speed, trailing clouds of dust and chips of gravel in their wake. Matthew rose to his feet.

"Hello, it looks like we have visitors ..." Matthew saw that Edith, having let go Mary's arm, was now shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun, and looking towards the drive, gazing at the fast approaching pair of black motors. A matter of minutes later, from the far side of the house, there came the sound of the two cars pulling to a stand, their wheels crunching on the gravel of the forecourt. Shortly thereafter, Kleist came out onto the terrace in search of his mistress to announce that there was an officer of the _Bundessicherheitswachekorps_ at the front door, who wished to speak to the master.

"Madam, I explained clearly but to no avail that the master had gone into Vienna. It was then that the officer requested he might speak with you".

"Where is he now?" asked Edith.

"Still at the front door. I did not think it at proper that he should be admitted to the house. Not until I had spoken with you".

"Very good, Kleist. Please be so good a to show the officer into the Drawing Room and be certain to tell him that I'll be along directly".

"Madam".

The old butler inclined his head, then set off at his customary sedate pace across the terrace, and disappeared inside the house in order to convey the instructions of his mistress to the officer commanding the detachment of the _Bundessicherheitswachekorps_ presently waiting outside the front door.

It was at this precise moment that Wyss and Salvatore arrived back on the terrace from down in the meadow where they had been ever since breakfast was over making a series of final adjustments to the engine of the Junkers preparatory to their departure which was scheduled for some time later today, although Max had made his Uncle Conrad promise faithfully that they would not leave before he and his cousins had returned home to Rosenberg from Vienna.

Seeing the two pilots, Edith waved happily and smiled; now nodded in their direction.

"I rather expect this visit is all to do with the business of the ..."  
"Would you like me to come along?" asked Matthew.

"You mean ... for moral support?"  
"Well, something like that. Yes".

Mary said nothing. From what she knew of Edith, she thought her sister would prove easily more than a match for any country policeman but then she was thinking of the likes of dear old Police Constable Chadwick. Portly of build and often short of breath, an undeniable favourite with the local children who knew his bark was worse than his bite, come rain or shine, Constable Chadwick did his rounds of Downton mounted on an ancient bicycle. However, here in Austria, the officers of the _Bundessicherheitswachekorps,_ like those of the _Bundesgendarmerie,_ were of an entirely different breed altogether, and some were already infected with Nazism.

"That would be most kind of you if you did".

"Then it's settled. Darling, will you stay here with the children? Help them look for lizards and so forth, while Edith and I go inside and deal with the ..."

" **Me**? Help the children look for lizards?"

Matthew grinned broadly.

"Why ever not? You'll enjoy it, you see if you don't! It's the most enormous fun. Don't worry, we won't be long. Oh, and, if in the meantime, Hansel and Gretel should return unexpectedly from Neverland, be so good as to let them know what's happened".

Mary nodded, while at the same time making a mental note to herself that her ideas and those of Matthew as to what constituted _fun_ were, at times, poles apart.

* * *

Having overheard his Uncle Matthew, Bobby now scrambled quickly off the table; ran over to where his Aunt Mary was still standing, she watching as Matthew and Edith disappeared off inside the house.

"Aunt Mary, are ya really going to help us all look for lizards, for sure?" Bobby sounded amazed, as well he might.

Mary looked down at her Irish nephew; he was the splitting image of his father, so much so that it could have been a pint-sized, seven year old Tom standing before her.

She inclined her head in the affirmative.

"Thanks to your Uncle Matthew, bless his little cotton socks, it would seem, young man, that, yes, I am".

"Grand!" Bobby positively beamed.

While _grand_ was not at all the word Mary herself would have used to describe what she was about to do, Bobby's grin was infectious, and she found herself smiling back at him. Then she sighed again; Matthew had a very great deal for which to answer.

* * *

 **Wurstelprater, Second District of Vienna, that same day some time later.**

Along with the happy, laughing faces of the boys already on board, most of whom were of a similar age to Danny, Rob, and Max, for the _Three Musketeers_ , the bright lights and the music of the waltzer beckoned irresistibly. Instinctively, Danny and Rob ran over to the attendant's booth. Max, too, made to start forward but, as he did so, now felt his father's restraining hand placed gently but nonetheless firmly on his left shoulder.

"Max, I said no, remember?" Friedrich said softly.

Max was utterly crestfallen. Looking up at his father, he blushed scarlet; his eyes misted.

* * *

Realising that Max had not joined them, puzzled that he had not done so, Danny and Rob turned round to look for him and, catching sight of Max, called to him to come and join them. Slowly, Max shook his head. As he did so, Danny and Rob saw just how sad he was looking so unlike the Max they had come to know. While neither of the two boys fully understood exactly what it was that was wrong with Max all the same, instinctively, they both realised why he was now looking the way he did. At that, Danny and Rob exchanged meaningful glances. Simultaneously, both of them shook their heads. A moment later, they had walked back to where their uncle and cousin had remained standing over by a row of stalls selling all manner of food to purchase and eat while wandering around the Wurstelprater. It now fell to Danny to explain.

"If it's all the same to ya, Uncle Friedrich, if Max isn't allowed to go on any of the rides here, then we won't go on them either".

Friedrich smiled.

It was just as it always was with these three: _u_ _n pour tous, tous pour un._ He had said it before many times; Max thought the world of Danny and Rob and no wonder that he did. Feeling very warmly disposed towards his two nephews, Friedrich suggested that instead they all try their luck in one of the shooting booths where, in due course, the honours went to Max who, much to his delight, won a wind up, clockwork, tinplate model aeroplane. While in no sense as accurate a replica as the beautifully crafted models Papa had made for him, suspended by lengths of cotton thread from the ceiling of his bedroom, for Max no other prize could have been more apt.

Then they tried their luck in a skittle alley where Rob won a teddy which Danny, with a grin and a nod to Simon's much loved bear, promptly named _Oscar The Second_ which, Rob said, since he himself was too old for such a toy, he would give to little Rebecca. Danny managed to win something too; in his case, a penny whistle with which he seemed inordinately pleased. Said that when they were back in Ireland, he and Bobby would take the train into town one Saturday morning, lay their caps on the pavement outside the GPO on O'Connell Street and put on a show for the passers-by, he on his penny whistle, while young Bobby went through his repertoire of Irish jigs.

A ride on the recently extended eight kilometre circuit of the Liliputbahn, the miniature railway followed. After that was over, glancing at his wristwatch, Friedrich saw that it was almost time to make their way over to the Riesenrad. But, before they did so, he took a photograph on his Leica IIIa camera, of the three boys standing together in the warm sunshine, Max between Danny and Rob, all of them smiling broadly, their arms around each other's shoulders, beside one of the two steam locomotives of the Liliputbahn.

* * *

 **Gazebo, Rosenberg about the same time.**

They had now left the bridge and, with Tom more or less back to his usual self, he and Sybil had strolled as far as the somewhat dilapidated gazebo on the island where owing to a passing shower, having taken refuge inside, they sat down on one of the marble benches within. Standing among the trees, octagonal in shape, with tall round headed windows on each side, the gazebo, decayed as it undoubtedly was now, held fond memories for both Friedrich and Edith, for it was here some ten years ago that she had told him that she was expecting a child - young Max. Not that Tom and Sybil were aware of this, nor indeed for that matter were Matthew and Mary, for it had never been mentioned in conversation.

After a short while sitting contentedly with their arms around each other, Sybil's head resting on Tom's shoulder, listening to the pitter-pat of the falling rain on the glass panes of the gazebo roof, here in this quiet, peaceful, secluded spot, with only the birds and woodland animals for company, Tom soon lost no time in making it perfectly clear to Sybil, if any such clarity was needed, what he had in mind.

"But what if the children should ..." she began.

His fingers already beginning to undo the buttons of her white blouse, Tom grinned.

"Darlin', our Danny is off in Vienna enjoying himself with his cousins and, as for the others, what with this rain, trust me ... they won't come this way".

Nor did they.

* * *

Meanwhile, close to the house, along with the three children, Mary was now down on her hands and knees on the sun baked flagstones. However, if she longed desperately for a chance to escape from watching and searching for lizards, even the weather served to conspire against her. For, up here on the terrace, the sun continued to shine and the passing shower of rain never came this way.

* * *

 **Drawing Room, Rosenberg.**

Grateful for Matthew's presence, as they reached the door to the Drawing Room, Edith turned back to face him.

"Matthew, darling, whatever all of this is about, say nothing. Let me do the talking".

"As you wish".

* * *

 **The Riesenrad, Wurstelprater, Second District of Vienna.**

Considered by many of the Viennese to be something of an engineering marvel, to all intents and purposes, the Riesenrad was no more than an enormous metal circle held together by an intricate, spider like web of massive iron girders and huge steel cables which, at the same time, managed somehow to appear both light and ethereal. Rides on it always proved very popular, even when it was wet, and today with the weather being so glorious, the operators of the huge ferris wheel were doing brisk business. Shortly before two o'clock, Friedrich and the three boys joined the queue of those waiting to purchase tickets for a ride in one of the thirty or so gondolas, each of which was the size of a tramcar, resplendent in their livery of imperial red. Accessed by a single leaf sliding door at one end, with six windows on each of the two long sides of the cabins, the gondolas gave those on board views in all directions, out over the sprawling metropolis of the city of Vienna; rivalled only by those on offer from the Watchman's Chamber atop the South Tower of the Stephansdom.

* * *

While each of the gondolas could carry some thirty or so passengers, given the long line of people waiting impatiently to board the ferris wheel, quite how Herzog and his friends intended ensuring that Friedrich and the three boys had a cabin all to themselves, Friedrich couldn't begin to imagine. Back at the Stephansdom, Herzog and Klein had explained that in seeking to _deal with_ \- their words not his own and something which, while he understood the necessity for it, Friedrich himself did not approve, they would be, to use an English phrase, _killing two birds with one stone_.

Of course, Friedrich was very well aware that no-one's motives are ever entirely altruistic. In silencing the would be assassin, Goldstein, Herzog, and the rest would also be _removing_ from the scene an individual whom they suspected of playing a significant part in the campaign of violence presently being orchestrated again the Jewish community here in Vienna. This had taken the form of attacks on individuals and their property, as witness what had happened at the _Café Produktenbörse_ back in December 1929 and rather more recently at a Jewish prayer room in the _Café Sperlhof_ just last year.

* * *

As he had done on the tram a short while earlier, Friedrich kept a weather eye on those immediately behind them in the queue but no-one looked at all out of place; Friedrich reflecting ruefully that no self respecting assassin would seek to draw attention to himself. Indeed quite the reverse.

There were several families with their children, some artisans eating _Käsekrainer_ purchased from one of the many cheap eateries, a couple of young priests, no doubt from the Archiepiscopal Seminary on the Boltzmanngasse, both wearing black birettas and cassocks, a group of students from the university, and a one armed veteran from the Great War proudly wearing on his chest a clutch of medals. Among these, Friedrich noted with approval, the _Karl Truppen-Kreuz_ with its red and white ribbon, and the _Verwundetenmedaille,_ which by its grey-green ribbon indicated that the man had been invalided out of the war; no doubt following the loss of his arm.

Sadly, there were all too many such wounded ex-servicemen here in Vienna, reduced to beggary. Friedrich recalled there had been another sitting on the pavement near the door to the South Tower of the Stephansdom when he and the boys had come down from the Watchman's Chamber. Like this one he too had been wearing with pride a faded military uniform of a now long vanished regiment, belonging to an empire that had ceased to exist in 1918 and who, since the end of the war and the collapse of the Habsburg Monarchy which he and others like him had served so devotedly, now in a pitiful state, begging for charity on the streets of the capital.

Then, suddenly, just behind them in the queue, a scuffle broke out, among the students, one shouting that another had tried to pick his pocket. As the fracas continued, the old man in the ticket booth hurriedly beckoned Friedrich and the boys forward, swiftly took their fares, and just as quickly issued them with their tickets, at the same time repeatedly urging them to move forward into the waiting gondola. This done, the uniformed attendant closed and bolted the door from the outside thus barring the way to anyone else seeking to board that particular gondola. It was only now that, as they took their seats, Friedrich realised the identity of two of those involved in the apparent fracas: Goldstein and Herzog and who, unusually for a pair of Jews, had not been wearing their customary dark attire.

* * *

"What was all that about?" asked Danny.

"Apparently one of the young men tried to pick the pocket of another; something like that," explained Friedrich.

* * *

There now came a grinding, rasping noise which was made all the more unnerving since it was totally unexpected which was followed in turn by a slight but nonetheless distinct judder before, almost imperceptibly, the enormous wheel and its wooden cabins, each bearing within their fragile cargo of fare paying passengers, began its ascent.

The constant creaking and groaning of the Riesenrad drew gasps of alarm from those still patiently waiting their turn in the queue on the ground, as well as, and with perhaps rather more reason, from those already on board. Sitting next to each other on the slatted wooden seat, the three boys exchanged nervous glances. There was nothing to fear, said Friedrich. In all the years the wheel had been in operation, there had never once been a single accident.

As it began turning, the progress of the Riesenrad was painfully slow; indeed, the huge wheel seemed scarcely to be barely moving at all, but gradually the cabin containing Friedrich and the boys drew away from the boarding platform to be replaced in turn by the one immediately behind it which, from their own elevated position, Friedrich saw fill rapidly with the students from the university. However, given the angle of his observation and the brightness of the afternoon sun whether these included Goldstein and Herzog he couldn't tell.

And so, as the ferris wheel began turning, one by one, each suspended within a pair of steel cradles, the gondolas, depending on where they were in the circle, either descended slowly towards the ground, or else rose upwards, inching their way aloft into the blueness of the afternoon sky.

* * *

 **Drawing Room, Rosenberg.**

Awaiting them, they found Captain Heinrich von Iselmann who, _s_ ave for his fair hair, reminded Matthew painfully of Tibor,, although there any similarity ended; Matthew recognising the man for what he undoubtedly was. After all, he had come across his sort once before, in fact, earlier this same year, when, _en route_ to a clandestine meeting in Limehouse in connection with his duties for the Foreign Office, by awful mischance, he had encountered a group of Oswald Mosley's bullish, swaggering blackshirts, marching down one of the back streets in what, after all, was a predominantly Jewish part of east London.

If the captain reminded Matthew of Tibor, then he seemed more than familiar to Edith herself. Usually she had a good memory for faces, but for one brief instant where it was they had met eluded her. Then she had it. Two years ago: Christmas Eve, 1931, at the Westbahnhof, when some thugs wearing the uniform of the _Ostmärkische_ _Sturmscharen_ of whom the officer of the _Bundessicherheitswachekorps_ now standing over by the tiled stove had been one, had tried to prevent Edith and Max from boarding the express for Salzburg. Fortunately, quite by chance, Conrad too had been at the railway station and had intervened and come to their aid. What would have happened had he not been there to do so, Edith feared to imagine. This had been on the same night that she had helped the group of young Jewish students in Leopoldstadt. As to whether the two incidents had been related even now Edith could not be certain but, at least to a degree, here in Austria these days such occurrences were usually allied to something else.

* * *

As to whether the young officer remembered their earlier encounter at the Westbahnhof, Edith couldn't tell but, if he did, he gave no sign of doing so. As they entered the room, smart in his dark green uniform, punctilious in his observation of the courtesies customary on such occasions, the officer came quickly to attention, saluted, and introduced himself.

While Matthew prided himself on having a reasonable command of German, it turned out that Edith was fluent in the language, as well she might be, having resided in Austria for some ten years. Having introduced herself, and also Matthew, she went on to explain that, along with their young son and his two cousins, her husband was presently away from Rosenberg, having caught the mid-morning express into Vienna. Then she suggested they should all sit down at which the captain demurred; said that he preferred to stand, that while he regretted the intrusion, this was not a social call. Edith appeared unperturbed and promptly seated herself on the sofa. indicating that Matthew should do likewise. This done, Edith gave a further explanation, one which was all the more startling because it was patently untrue. Unfortunately, she said, her English brother-in-law, spoke no German. Not a word. Did the captain himself speak English? Regrettably, it transpired that he did not. Turning to Matthew, Edith swiftly told him in English to look suitably bemused. In the circumstances, Matthew said he would have no difficulty in doing exactly as she had just asked him. Turning back to Captain Iselmann, the conversation promptly resumed ... in German.

* * *

The captain said that he would come straight to the point. The Junkers, down there in the meadow. Where had it come from, who had been on board it, and why had it landed on Austrian soil?

From Edith's answers, which, of course, Matthew understood only too perfectly, it soon became readily apparent that his sister-in-law was extremely adept in the art of refraining from volunteering information, making it her business to say just enough so as to answer the captain's questions truthfully, while at the same time failing to give anything away, and for which Matthew silently awarded her full marks. Indeed, Edith was almost glib in her answers, explaining that the 'plane had arrived here unexpectedly, which was indeed the case. Exactly where it had come from, she could not say, at least not with any degree of certainty, and which also was true. As to why it had landed here, she understood from its pilot and co-pilot, both of whom were former comrades in arms of her husband, a decorated ace, all three having flown with the _Kaiserliche und_ _Königliche Luftfahrtruppen_ during the Great War, the Junkers had experienced a variety of mechanical problems, including a reoccurring obstruction in the fuel line which caused the water-cooled engine to cut out repeatedly. There had been an issue to with the altimeter too. Or had it been another of the gauges in the cockpit? Then again it might have been something else entirely. Did the captain himself have any knowledge of aeroplanes?

Again Captain Iselmann shook his head. Like Matthew earlier, he appeared somewhat bemused, not to say astonished, saying that it seemed to him as if Frau Schonborn herself had some experience of such matters. When Edith then explained she herself was a qualified pilot, and did indeed possess some knowledge of things aeronautical, Captain Iselmann looked suitably impressed. Whatever it was that had caused the problem, said Edith, it had been necessary to make an emergency landing. Knowing of the presence of the meadow at Rosenberg, the pilots had brought the 'plane into land here. As to passengers, Edith lofted a brow.

"Why, have you not heard ..."

This time Captain Iselmann was just as quick as she.

"Have you?"

Matthew saw instantly the trap the question posed. But in Edith, Captain Iselmann had well and truly met his match. She gave him a long, hard, appraising look before going on to say that there had been no passengers on board the Junkers. Presumably the captain had been listening to scurrilous rumours, from where she could not possibly imagine. In any event, they had been thoroughly discredited by the Roumanian authorities in Bucharest, as well as by the British ambassador in Budapest.

"So, did your relatives not then travel to Budapest?"

Indeed they had, at the invitation of her husband's cousin and his wife. And had returned exactly the same way they had gone. Edith paused. By train.

Iselmann was not convinced.

"And confirmation of this ..."  
Assuming a haughty tone, one which Matthew recognised only too well, which Mary likewise could and did assume at will, Edith said she was not used to having her word questioned.

"Confirmation? Is it then your intention to begin questioning other members of my family, our servants, because if so I …"

Iselmann shook his head.

"If you give me your word that what occurred is as you have just stated, then no, that will not be necessary".

Edith said nothing; merely inclined her head in the affirmative.

As to whether Iselmann really believed any of what he had just been told was hard to gauge. Matthew thought it unlikely. Nonetheless, it was also abundantly clear that, whatever the social changes brought about in Austria by both war and revolution, hereabouts the Schönborn name still counted for something and it was obvious that, for all his arrogance and swagger, the officer was treading lightly. At least so far.

Edith forced a smile. Now, what other matter was it that the captain wished to raise?

* * *

 **Aboard The Riesenrad, Wurstelprater, Vienna.**

As the great wheel continued to turn, and their own gondola rose higher and higher into the air, there were views to be had not only of the full extent of the Wurstelprater but right across Vienna, much as had been the case but a short while ago in the Watchman's Chamber atop the South Tower of the Stephansdom. After what seemed an age but which in reality could have been no more than but a matter of minutes, the gondola containing Friedrich and the boys reached its zenith where for a few, brief moments, save for a slight oscillation caused by the wind, it remained completely motionless. Friedrich had told the boys to remain seated but unsurprisingly, while not wilfully disobedient, more a response to the continued chivvying of him by his parents to take the utmost care in all that he did, Max took it into his head to kneel up on the slatted seat to gain a better look at what was to be seen.

"Max, sit down!"

At that very same moment, the window beside Max crazed, then shattered, peppering the interior and the floor of the wooden cabin with flying shards of glass. The gondola lurched, swayed violently. Naturally, Friedrich's first concern was for the boys. When the cabin lurched so unexpectedly, Danny and Robert, but thankfully not Max, had been pitched onto the floor. However, now having picked themselves up and dusted themselves down, save for all three being clearly shocked by what had happened, none had sustained even a scratch. Momentarily, Friedrich thought it might have been a pigeon which had flown into one of the windows - after all it had happened before - but then amongst the broken glass littering the floor he saw the bullet; a 9mm round from a Mauser P08. Then, through the broken glass came the roar of the wind, followed seconds later by a piercing scream.

Looking down, Friedrich saw a figure, a man he thought, fall from the open door of the gondola below their own; watched in horror as, arms and legs flailing, the figure plunged headlong towards the ground, bouncing off the steel cables and ironwork of the wheel, before very quickly hitting the ground with a sickening crunch. No-one could have survived a fall like that but, how on earth had the door come open? After all, it would have been secured from the outside by those on duty down below. A faulty catch then. It had to be that. Unless …

* * *

Herzog's words, uttered in a rapid, hushed tone in the privacy of the Watchman's Chamber of the Stephansdom now came back to haunt him.

 _Have no worries, he **will** be taken care of._

It seemed that, as with all members of the secretive _Jüdische Selbstwehr_ , Herzog was very much a man of his word. With realisation fast dawning of what it was that had occurred here, Friedrich blanched.

Far below the gondolas, in the immediate vicinity of the great wheel, down on the ground, through the shattered window of their cabin, Friedrich glimpsed a sea of white, upturned faces, of people who, realising that something had happened, were gazing up at the Riesenrad, pointing and gesticulating. at its now motionless rake of cabins.

"What is it, Papa? Why have we stopped moving?" Max asked. At the same time, Danny made to stand up intending to try and obtain a better view of what had happened by looking out of the shattered window.

"No, Danny! Sit down!" his uncle ordered crisply.

The boy flushed to the very roots of his dark thatch of hair but nonetheless sat back down immediately, hard on the seat. Not since he was a little lad had anyone spoken to him like that. Well, perhaps Ma, but nobody else. And certainly not Da. Danny now looked up; dared to venture a question.

"What's … what's happened, Uncle Friedrich?"

His uncle did his best to make amends. He smiled.

"I'm sorry I shouted at you, Danny … There's been an accident; someone fell from one of the cabins. It's not pleasant …"

* * *

 **Drawing Room, Rosenberg.**

When it came to the second matter which had brought him here, the captain was on rather firmer ground. Did Edith know of a family by the name of Muller? Playing for time, giving nothing away, Edith said there were several families of that surname in the locality, now asked for further information which Iselmann duly provided, explaining that the family in question lived down below, in the valley, close to St. Johann, where they kept the inn. Edith shook her head, said she didn't know them which was true enough insofar as she knew _of_ them. Not that she told iselmann that, nor that they were related in some way, albeit distantly, to the parents of Ralf, the young boy who had tried to teach Max how to ride a bicycle. Iselmann now went on to explain that a serious crime had been committed, one which was presently under investigation. The eldest son of the family, named Hans, aged twenty three, had been found hanged. In woodland. An isolated spot. On the edge of the Rosenberg estate.

Not that she said so, but Edith seemed to recall hearing that Hans Muller was deeply involved with one of the right wing para military organisations of which there were several here in Austria. That there had been some unpleasantness involving two students out from Vienna who had rented a cottage on the Rosenberg estate. At the time it soon began to be whispered that the two young men were more than just friends. Whatever the truth of it, there had been an incident down at the inn where they had been roughed up by several local lads of whom Hans Muller had been one. That he had also been involved in the wrecking of the _Café Sperlhof_ in Vienna last year _._

Iselmann seemed surprised that Frau Schönborn did not know the family. Edith countered by saying that Rosenberg was a large estate, with a sizeable staff both inside the house and beyond. That being so, she could hardly be expected to know everyone hereabouts by name, let alone those from further afield. Borrowing a line which could have come straight from Mary herself, Edith went on to say, in a tone that was suitably dismissive, that she did not concern herself with such minutiae.

Hearing this, Matthew did his best not to smile, knowing in reality that the exact reverse was true. As far as Friedrich and Edith were concerned, here at Rosenberg, all on the estate had their part to play, and so they made it their business to know everyone in their employ; just as Matthew himself had done since he had taken over the reins at Downton. However, so as to reinforce what she had just said, Edith added that overseeing the running of the house was the responsibility of both the butler and housekeeper while matters relating to the farms, the fields, the woods, and so forth, were the concern of the estate manager. All this apart, both she and her husband were often away. But surely, the captain knew that?

Iselmann nodded. While he seemed satisfied, he said that it was the business of those in the _Bundessicherheitswachekorps,_ just as it was of those in the _Bundesgendarmerie,_ to be well informed. That, for instance, they were well aware that the Schönborns' eldest son did not enjoy robust health. By the way, exactly where was the boy? He trusted he was not, indisposed? Edith said that she had already told him. Her son was with his father and cousins … in Vienna. Indeed, yes, that had been checked. Then why ask? Iselmann chose to ignore the question. Now went on to say that the _Bundessicherheitswachekorps_ was equally cognisant that the Schönborns were often abroad on their archaeological excavations, where they went, with whom they met … Again the captain paused. Just as equally they knew who came here to the house, be they visitors from abroad – his eyes rested momentarily on Matthew - or those from closer at hand … from say … Vienna. To be more precise, in this case, from Leopoldstadt.

Once again, Edith's face betrayed nothing of her innermost feelings, saying merely that she was flattered that the _Bundessicherheitswachekorps_ should take such an interest in the private affairs of one family. At that, Iselmann permitted himself the briefest of smiles, assuring Edith that they were interested in everyone, particularly those who ... how should he put it? Perhaps Frau Schönborn could be of assistance. Edith shrugged. Said she did not follow what the captain meant.

"Oh, I think you do".

"I do not".

"Then let me explain. We in the _Bundessicherheitswachekorps_ are especially concerned with those who have no part to play in the new Austria, who are not wanted here, as neither are their sympathisers, those who are known to share the same diseased political affiliations and views, ones which are not conducive to the good order and well being of the republic … social deviants malcontents, riff-raff, and scum, such as the Jews, as well as those who choose to consort with them".

Edith said nothing.

Iselmann went onto say that it was the considered opinion of the _Bundessicherheitswachekorps_ that what on the face of it appeared to have been a tragic suicide was anything but that. The Muller boy had been murdered and that he had reason to believe that the _Jüdische Selbstwehr_ was somehow involved. While enquiries were at but an early stage, make no mistake, they would continue and, were the _Bundessicherheitswachekorps_ to find out that … But he was certain Frau Schönborn understood entirely what would follow.

"Are you threatening me, captain?"  
"Oh, be assured, I never threaten. I may warn. You would do well to heed that. And one thing more …"

Iselmann paused.

While his words were for Edith, he now looked directly down at Matthew.

"Frau Schönborn, let me be very plain. Your English and Irish relatives would do well to return to their own countries. Their kind too are not wanted here. Not in the new Austria. They have reservations booked for them in the Calais coach of the westbound Orient Express which departs from Vienna in but a few days from now. For your sake, and for theirs, make sure they are on it. Tell them so".

Whether the captain had guessed that Matthew did indeed understand German was unclear. However, assuming that he had not been rumbled, Matthew took care to ensure that his face did not betray him; continued with the pretence of not understanding a word of what was being said. So, his expression registered nothing, and, in a skilful piece of play acting, he now looked inquiringly at Edith, as if seeking enlightenment while at the same time found himself remembering back to January 1921 when he and Mary had gone in search of Tom who had disappeared following the burning of Cork. Then, Matthew's attempts to find out what had become of his brother-in-law had been met almost with a wall of silence by the British administration based at Dublin Castle, with whom at the time Tom was very much a _persona non grata_. This had culminated in Matthew being told in no uncertain terms by an odious individual - Major Percival - to leave Ireland forthwith. Now, here in Austria, it seemed that he had the misfortune to encounter another officer of much the same ilk.

Seemingly unperturbed, Edith rose gracefully to her feet; drew herself up to her full height. Her expression was a mixture of both contempt and disdain.

"You forget yourself, captain. I need no advice from you, neither on matters appertaining to railway timetables, nor regarding the well being of my own family".

Captain Iselmann shrugged.

"As you please". Seeing Edith about to ring for a servant, Iselmann shook his head. "No, don't bother with that. I am perfectly capable of finding my own way out".

Nonetheless, Edith still pressed firmly on the bell.

"It's no bother. None whatsoever. After all, I'm not offering to attend you myself. However, this is a very large house, and I would be sorely distressed if you were to lose your way in trying to find the front door". In fact, Edith could not have cared less if Iselmann had tripped headlong, fallen down the coal hole, and broken his blasted neck, save for the undoubted inconvenience of it all.

* * *

A moment later and Kleist re-entered the room.

"Kleist, would you kindly escort the captain to the front door and then see that he leaves this house".

"Very good, madam. This way if you please, sir".

At which point Edith deliberately turned her back on Captain Iselmann; stood looking out of the window, over towards the terrace where she caught sight of Mary sitting with the children, their hunt for lizards seemingly at an end.

Edith remained standing exactly where she was until she heard the door softly close behind her. Then she swung round.

"What a perfectly odious young man".

Matthew rose to his feet.

"My thoughts entirely. If it's any consolation, Edith, which I somehow doubt, it's becoming the same all over Europe; demagogues, rabble-rousers, and even worse taking over". Of course, Matthew was singularly unaware that Sybil had said almost the same thing to Tom but an hour or so since. "However, none of us want to endanger Friedrich, you, or the children. So, if you think it best that we all depart …"

Edith shook her head decisively.

"Nonsense. Friedrich would never hear of it. And neither will I! You'll leave as arranged. Perhaps, given what you've been through, even stay on for a while. Besides, darling Max would never forgive either of us if he had to part company with Danny and Rob any sooner than intended. Now, I think I need some fresh air. Coming?"

For all that, Edith's mind was in a whirl; wondering what she should say to Friedrich when he returned. They had no secrets from each other, so, the truth of course. And, as for Wyss and Salvatore, irrespective of any promises that might have been made to Max, it would be better for them and for everyone else if they did not delay their departure any longer than was strictly necessary.

Matthew nodded.

"Certainly. Shall we go and find out how Mary's fared in her hunt for lizards?"

All the same Matthew could not help but feel that here at Rosenberg it would be better for all concerned if the Bransons and the Crawleys left Austria as scheduled a matter of days hence. And, tonight, after Friedrich and the boys had returned from Vienna, he would make it his business to reiterate what he had said earlier, about being prepared to help if things in Austria deteriorated to the point where staying on became untenable. If that happened, then it was vital that the Schönborns had a plan which, without attracting attention, would enable all of them to leave the country at a moment's notice.

* * *

 **On The Terrace, Rosenberg shortly thereafter.**

Outside on the terrace, Matthew and Edith found the children sitting in the sunshine in the wicker chairs while Mary read them a story; something which she never did at home. A moment later, hand in hand, Tom and Sybil arrived back on the terrace from the lower gardens.

"Just where have you two been?" asked Mary, laying aside the much worn copy of _The House At Pooh Corner_ which, along with _Winnie-The-Pooh_ , Simon had brought with him to Austria. They were his two favourite stories; he secretly identifying as Christopher Robin, with Oscar assuming the guise of Pooh, made easier by the fact that, back at Downton, close to Home Farm, there was a large spinney which, at least for Simon if for no-one else, doubled as The Hundred Acre Wood of the story.

"For a very long walk," replied Sybil archly, before sinking down contentedly into one of the wicker chairs, kicking off her shoes, and massaging her toes, something which, when they were at home in Blackrock,Tom often did for her, especially after she had been on her feet all day pounding the wards of the Rotunda Hospital in Dublin. Behind her Tom scrambled up and perched himself on the balustrade, looking for all the world much as Bobby had done a short while earlier, and, if the truth be told, rather pleased with himself. As well he might.

"And?" asked Mary.

"And, what?" retorted Edith.

"Those men, what did they want?"

"Which men?" asked Tom, clearly mystified, the two motors belonging to the _Bundessicherheitswachekorps_ not having arrived at Rosenberg until some time after he and Sybil had left the house.

Edith looked sideways at Matthew.

"I think it's better if you explain what's happened," he said.

Edith nodded.

"Yes, of course," she said softly. "But not now. Later, after Friedrich has returned from Vienna, and the children are all in bed".

"And?" asked Matthew, now looking directly at Mary.

"And what?" she asked, her tone deadpan, sensing what was to come.

"Did you find any?"  
"Did I find any what?"

"Lizards".  
"Do you really want to know?"  
"Yes," said Matthew, trying desperately to keep a straight face,"I really want to know".

"No, you don't".

"Yes, I do".

"Matthew, darling, we could continue having this conversation until one of us dies!"

Fortunately, Tom now interrupted.

"Ya been hunting for lizards, Mary?" He lofted a brow. "Why, some people have all the fun, for sure".

"That's not quite how I'd choose to describe it," retorted Mary tartly.

"Aunt Mary was just grand, Da!" piped Bobby. "She's been reading us all a story, about a bear called Pooh and his friends. There's a donkey in it called Eeyore". Bobby made a braying sound, then giggled.

Tom nodded.

"Was she now?" He grinned.  
Mary's eyes narrowed.

"You needn't sound quite so surprised, Paddy O'Reilly!"  
"For sure, she was!" exclaimed Saiorse indignantly "Aunt Mary did all the voices too. Just like ya do, Da. My favourite's Tigger. He's very bouncy, for sure!" As well he might be thought Sybil with resignation, while Saiorse, as if to emphasise the point she had just made, bounced hard several times on the seat of her chair.

"Mama was absolutely marvellous, Papa," whispered Simon shyly.

"Thank you, my darlings". Mary smiled.

* * *

 **The Riesenrad, Wurstelprater, Vienna.**

After what seemed to have been an interminable age, finally the Riesenrad began to move again, and for all its passengers, including Friedrich and the three boys, this meant an excruciatingly slow descent back down the ground. Once there, everyone who had been trapped aboard the gondolas were shepherded quickly away from the great wheel, their path to freedom made easier by the cordon of armed _gendarmes_ intent on keeping back the crowds of would-be onlookers. Not that that this prevented Friedrich from seeing what the boys and seemingly others did not; lying on a stretcher, the face and upper torso hastily covered with a tattered army greatcoat, the body of the victim, and but a short distance away, seemingly unnoticed by the group of officials deep in conversation, standing nearby, a medal with a grey green ribbon. There was something else too. The bloodstained, faded uniform the man was wearing did not seem to fit him. It was almost as if ... as if it was not his own. And there was one thing more. The body lying prostrate on the stretcher clearly had **two** arms. Yet how on earth …

 _All they that take the sword shall perish with the sword_ said a familiar voice softly, close at Friedrich's elbow, but when he turned to look at who it was, there was no-one to be seen; save for the fast retreating back of a man who a moment later had disappeared, swallowed up among the crowd of bystanders, so much so that Friedrich could not be certain if it was he who had spoken to him or not. Or, if he had ever been there in the first place.

* * *

A short while later, Friedrich stood and waited patiently while the boys purchased a small selection of bonbons, _Punschkrapfen_ , and _Sacherwürfel_ , from one of the stalls selling confectionery and sweetmeats, for Saiorse, Simon, Bobby, and Rebecca. Among the goodly selection of bonbons were some chocolate-coated almonds which, said Robert, would do very nicely for Saiorse.

Danny shook his head.

"I thought I told ya, Rob, sis doesn't like nuts".

"Exactly!" laughed Robert, with a knowing smirk. "They're actually for Si', but I'll give them to Saiorse first. By mistake of course. Just to see the look on her face when she tries one!"

Danny sniggered.

All the same, he took care to see that among their purchases was something which his sister would like.

* * *

For all that the sun still shone, there seemed to be a distinct chill in the afternoon air. It was as if what had happened on the Riesenrad had somehow contrived to suck the very warmth out of the day, so much so, that with their purchases of confectionery now made, when Friedrich suggested to the boys they walk back to the tram stop, in order to begin to retrace their steps to the Westbahnhof, they raised no objection.

* * *

Their journey back on the crowded, clanging tram, winding its way through the bustling streets of Vienna to the railway station, proved uneventful. Thereafter, the Salzburg express was prompt in its departure from the Westbahnhof. On the way back to St. Johann, with the boys seemingly none the worse for what had happened at the Riesenrad, lost in thought, Friedrich sat gazing out of the window of their compartment, staring at the passing countryside, mulling over in his mind just what he should say to Edith about what had happened.

The truth, naturally.

At least, as he assumed it to be.

* * *

Later that same afternoon, in a cloud of steam and smoke, the heavy express drew slowly to a stand at the wayside station of St. Johann where Friedrich and the boys climbed down from the train to be met in the forecourt by Weisman in his livery sitting at the wheel of the waiting Mercedes. Then, with Friedrich and the boys seated in the motor, the chauffeur set off, driving them back sedately along the narrow winding country road which led from the station to Rosenberg, the air heavy with the scent of pine trees and new mown hay.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

The original Nordbahnhof railway station no longer exists. Badly damaged during WWII, it has since been rebuilt, twice.

Admiral Wilhelm von Tegetthoff (1827-1871) an Austrian admiral (when Austria then part of the Austro-Hungarian empire had a sea coast) who fought in several naval actions during the mid nineteenth century.

 _Earling_. It is well known that in the 1920s and '30s the then Prince of Wales, later briefly Edward VIII, who, while wanting all the perks but none of the responsibilities of being royal born (a century later some things never change!) detested his duties, referring to them with contempt as "princing".

GPO - the General Post Office - one of Dublin's most famous buildings owing to it being garrisoned and held by the rebels as their headquarters during the Easter Rising of 1916.

 _Käsekrainer -_ a sausage made of pork and cheese.

 _Bundessicherheitswachekorps_ \- Federal Security Guard Corps, the armed and uniformed civilian guard of the Republic of Austria. In the 1930s, as the political situation in the country deteriorated, the Security Guard Corps was increasingly used to crackdown on those considered to be opponents of the government.

 _Bundesgendarmerie -_ the federal police service of the Republic of Austria.

 _Ostmärkische Sturmscharen_ \- a right wing paramilitary group (of which there were several) founded in Austria in December 1930.

The gazebo or summerhouse may sound familiar. It actually exists. Now standing in the grounds of the Schloss Hellbrunn, Salzburg, it was used to good effect in the film _The Sound of Music_ for the song _Sixteen going On Seventeen_. And, just as in the film the rain drives Rolf and Liesl inside, so too in the story for Tom and Sybil.

The description and number of the gondolas of the Riesenrad is as they were before the ferris wheel suffered serious damage at the end of WWII.

The wrecking of the _Café Produktenbörse_ in 1929 and the _Café Sperlhof_ in 1932 were but two of many such incidents which occurred in Vienna during the early 1930s in which the Jewish community and their property were deliberately targeted by Nazi thugs.

For what happened when Matthew and Mary crossed to Ireland in search of Tom, see my first story, _Home Is Where The Heart Is._

The incident involving the two young men from Vienna who came to stay on the estate at Rosenberg is alluded to in my story _The Snow Waltz._

Written nearly a century ago, by A. A. Milne (1882-1956) his stories of _Winnie-the-Pooh_ and _The House At Pooh Corner_ , whose characters were inspired by his young son's stuffed animals, remain as popular as ever.

 _Punschkrapfen_ \- small sponge cakes or fancies filled with jam and covered with a pink glaze.

 _Sacherwürfel_ \- small chocolate cakes filled with apricot jam.


End file.
